


Legends of Badal'Shari: The Song of Souls

by Arcaniel



Series: The Legends of Badal'Shari [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Arabian Nights - Freeform, Fantasy, M/M, Male Slash, Music, Science Fiction, Shounen-ai, Slash, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 44,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcaniel/pseuds/Arcaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To secure his poor family's well-being, young bard Shanar sells himself into indentured servitude. He ends up in the household of the city's ruler, where his special musical talent is needed to soothe some deeply troubled hearts - especially that of the Lord's heir, Prince Arevan...<br/>This story takes place in the same world as "The End of all Stories", 37 years earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Verse 1 - Child of Shame (Part 1)

There once was a man called Murad the Brave,

And men followed him, young and old.

Everyone said, "You'll go to your grave!"

But they built a City of Gold.

 

There once was a man called Murad the Brave -

His City of Gold was burned down.

One thousand men were called to their grave

By black desert demons unknown.

 

No honor left to grace Murad's name

Whenever this story is told.

All that remains is sadness and shame -

Gone like the City of Gold. 

 

Shanar hated this particular ballad. It had a lovely tune, but every word of it was a dagger to his own heart. Nevertheless, he played it whenever the people frequenting the bazaar asked for it, and thanked them graciously for their coin. This song brought food to the table of his family like any other, so he swallowed his grief and tried his very best to perform the  Ballad of Murad as well as possible. 

Today, he had been asked for it at least four times, and he didn't think he could bear it one more time. It was late afternoon, the suns already low above the spires of Al'Menara. He seriously contemplated leaving his customary seat early, but his audience hadn't been very generous today, so he would have to stay longer than usual to earn some more. The heat of the draught-time made people stay in their cool homes or hurry by to get out of the suns.

Taking his time to tune his lute, Shanar looked around the bazaar. His place was right by the north well, flanked by the stalls of a spice vendor and a fruits merchant. The latter profited from Shanar's performance since a lot of people bought fruit from him while they listened. 

"Shanar, care for something to wet your throat?" the merchant asked. He was a friendly, elderly man with a bushy white mustache. "I have some nice green waterberries left. They will be spoiled tomorrow."

"You're very kind, Master Kasrim," Shanar replied, standing up and going over to the older man. "May I take some berries with me later, for my family?"

"Of course! And remember, my offer still stands - if you can afford the dowry, my younger son will be happy to marry your sister next sowing-time," Kasrim replied with a smile. 

Shanar nodded. For the last four rainy-seasons, he had been thinking of nothing but the dowry. His oldest sister Alia had just turned fifteen rainy-seasons and was therefore old enough to marry. Kasrim's offer was very generous - his younger son Sehan would get a small stall of his own to start a business at the city's south gate. Considering the low status of Shanar's family, it would be the best Alia could ever hope for. She also genuinely liked Sehan - and by the gods, Shanar would make it possible. He was just two goldsuns short for the dowry. As soon as Alia was married, he could start saving up for his second oldest sister, Nimi. 

Shanar ate a few of the already overripe waterberries, savoring the sweet taste. The smaller children would be overjoyed to get some of the berries for dinner. He thanked Kasrim and then returned to his place at the well. There were already a few people waiting for him. Shanar smiled and asked for favorite songs.

And of course, he had to play the hated  Ballad of Murad again.

 

 

"Waterberries!" 

"Oh no, those are for later! Akil, Siran, go wash your hands and comb your hair, thank the gods, and sit down at the table," Shanar ordered his little brothers and held the fruits out of range as he stepped into the small house. Two identical pairs of auburn eyes looked at him in profound disappointment, and two identical tousled, golden blond heads were bowed as the little boys ran away to obey. 

Alia kissed him on the cheek as she took the fruits from Shanar. "Master Kasrim gave them to you again? He is really nice."

"Just wait, and you'll have your own fruit stall in no time, together with Sehan," Shanar promised, smiling at his sister's blush. Alia was the most beautiful girl he knew with her head of shining white-blonde curls and reddish-brown eyes like their little brothers'. She was also smart and practical, had a good head for figures and a no-nonsense attitude - the best requirements for a merchant's wife. 

Just two goldsuns left...

"So, what did you girls do today?" Shanar asked while he washed his hands in a wash basin next to the door.

"I went to the temple again," Nimi said. She was setting the table.

Shanar sighed. "Nimi, we've talked about this. The temple of Shariha wants thirty goldsuns to take you in! Alia's dowry will be twenty, and it took me all the rainy-seasons since Father died to save it up. I have no idea how I should get even more in a much shorter time."

"But I don't want to marry. I want to serve the goddess. I can be a priestess and dance in her service, just like Mother did!" Nimi insisted. "You know that I've practiced very hard. I will pass the tests!"

"You could try to become a guild bard, Shanar," Alia suggested. "I've heard at the market today that the tailors' guild is looking for a new one. Nimi's heart is set on it, and you always said that you wanted to honor Mother's promise that none of us girls would have to marry someone we don't want."

"Yes, I know." Shanar took a deep breath. "I guess I'll try. I don't think I have a chance, though. There are much better bards, and besides... Well, you know. But if I do find a way to earn more money, you can join the temple, Nimi."

Nimi smiled, running up to her brother and hugging him. "Thank you!"

Shanar stroked her neatly braided light-brown hair. "I guess I can't deny my sisters anything. By the way, where is Jeana? Running around with the neighborhood boys again?"

Alia frowned. "I'm afraid so. She played the whole day with Akil and Siran, keeping an eye on them for me, but then she got bored and sneaked outside. We can't let her do this any longer."

"Let her be. She just has to tell you when she's going outside."

"You're too lenient." Now it was Alia's turn to sigh. "What will you do if I have moved out?"

That as a good question. Nimi had to take over Alia's duties of housekeeping and taking care of the smaller children and was already preparing for it, but it would be difficult. After all, Nimi was only twelve rainy-seasons old. Alia might be cared for, but the family situation would actually get worse once she was married.

When everyone had sat down at the table, Jeana stormed in, dark-blonde curls flying wildly about her face. There was dirt on her nose and a tear in her pants. What Jeana needed wasn't more money - it was real parents. Shanar and Alia did the best they could with the three smallest children, but they knew they couldn't really replace their lost parents.

Of course there was the possibility of Shanar finding a wife some day - but his chances for it were minimal. He was just a lowly freelancing bard, and there was the even bigger problem of his heritage. Next to his fair-haired, sand-skinned siblings, typical for the mehan’shari, he looked foreign with his much darker skin and dark-brown hair. Even his eyes were strange: instead of any range of brown, their color could only be described as the light bluish green of clear water. 

In the quarter of the city were they were living, there were actually a few people like him, as was around the bazaar at the north well where he was working. The people were used to the sight of him. But the fine tailors' guild was located at a far more elegant quarter. They probably wouldn't even admit someone like him - a mehan'murad. 

But it was no use thinking about it now. The family ate, and Shanar could feel Alia's worried gaze on him while he pondered his possibilities, his younger siblings' happy chatter a faint noise in the background.

After the meal, Shanar counted the earnings of the day and split them in half, as usual. At this rate, he would have Alia's dowry complete for the beginning of the next rainy-season in ten weeks so that the marriage could be held in sowing-time, as it was customary. And after that... No, he really needed another way to earn more money.

 

_ To be continued... _


	2. Verse 1 - Child of Shame Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay - I was away and didn't have any internet connection. To make up for it, I have something to help you better understand the world of Badal'Shari: a map. You can find it here: http://www.michiru.house-of-artists.de/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/map_badalshari_neu-1024x860.jpg The important places for this story are the city of Al'Menara and the destroyed city of Shir'Murad.

The next morning, Shanar went up even earlier than usual to fetch his best clothes from the trunk and make himself as presentable as possible. He styled his long, straight hair in dozens of tiny braids and decorated them with blue pearls, matching his blue trousers and vest. The people of Al'Menara were the practical sort that held no great love for decorations neither on their homes nor on their persons, but as an entertainer, Shanar was expected to look a bit more exotic. 

He grabbed a few hard pieces of bread for breakfast and carefully shouldered his lute. The fine instrument was his most precious possession, a gift from his mother's father who had taught him to play and sing. Shanar paused before he went back to his trunk and pulled out a small pendant on a piece of cord. This had been another gift from his grandfather - a miraculous good luck charm, as he had said. Shanar, being the sensible person that he was, had never believed in such things, so he had never worn it for fear of losing it. But today, it surely couldn't hurt to wear it. He needed all the luck he could get.

Carefully, Shanar pulled it over his head and looked at it for a moment before he stuffed it under the collar of his shirt. It was a small rectangular piece of silvery metal, engraved with tiny ornaments: more rectangles, circles, and lines. It didn't match any kind of design Shanar had ever seen, but his grandfather had told him that this charm came from the far city of Shir'Edrim where their ancestors had lived decades ago.

'There is a kind of magic in it,' his grandfather had told him with a conspiratorial smile. 'It never worked for me nor for my father or his mother before, but the story goes that a long time ago, this charm was a gift from the god Adan himself and gave special powers to our ancestors. All of them were bards, like you and I, and it is said that with his charm, their music could influence the hearts of people. They could calm the angry, bring joy to the sad, even heal those with a sickness inside their souls.'

Shanar, then ten rainy-seasons old, had answered, 'But Grandfather, don't you alway say that these are the tasks of every bard?'  
Grandfather had laughed and ruffled his hair. 'Of course!'

Shanar had to smile at the memory. His beloved grandfather had died soon after and was now gone for seven rainy-seasons, but with this little charm and the lute, he would be with Shanar forever.

 

The tailors' guild was located in a huge, white building. Although it was still very early, there was already a queue forming at the entrance. Shanar spotted a lot of familiar faces - although the city's entertainers had no guild of their own, they knew each other very well. To his dismay, a lot of these other bards were excellent musicians with an impeccable reputation. His chances were sinking lower every moment. But he squared his shoulders and took his place at the end of the line. He had to try at least, or Alia would never forgive him.

After two hours of sweating in the merciless light of the morning suns, it was finally his turn. Three guild masters were sitting behind a table in the great hall which was thankfully cool. Their eyebrows shot up as they looked at Shanar.

"A mehan'murad. I didn't think there were any of them left," the oldest remarked.

"In case you forgot, the fall of Shir'Murad was just 18 rainy-seasons ago," the youngest reminded him. "So, lad, tell us about you. You were born in Shir'Murad, right? Who were your parents?"

Although Shanar had expected these questions, they hurt nevertheless. He took a deep breath and answered calmly, "My name is Shanar. My grandfather was a citizen of Shir'Murad, as was my mother, a dancer. I... was born the day after Shir'Murad fell, during the escape from the burning city."

The third guild master nodded. "And your father?"

This was even harder. "My real father’s name was Gilbadr Jen Mohan, but I never knew him. He was killed during the attack on the city. My mother remarried a citizen of Al'Menara, a guard of the narif'adir named Almahed Rafis. He raised me."

"At least something honorable to report," the oldest man grumbled. "I suppose he is still performing his duty?"

Shanar shook his head. "My father... There was an accident four rainy-seasons ago while he had guard duty on the wall."

"I think I remember that story," the youngest guild master said with a frown. "I'm acquainted with the commander of the narif'adir. That guard was drunk. There wasn't even an attack on the wall."

"He didn't cope well with my mother's death... and began to drink," Shanar tried to explain. "She had died during draught-time on a fever. The commander canceled any support a narif'adir member's family might usually get, so I had to take care of my four younger siblings on my own ever since."

The third guild master looked at him inquiringly. "That's no small feat. And you earned enough money to support your family with your skills so far? Where do you sing?"

"I'm usually sitting at the bazaar of the north well. During the festivals, I was also hired by the temples."

"Well, then let's hear..."

The so far friendliest guild master was interrupted by his younger colleague. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it's necessary to let him perform. A mehan'murad would be barely acceptable as it is, but with his family's reputation..."

"He's right," the eldest added. "Now, young man, thank you for your time. I'm sure you'll get by on your own. Good day."

Shanar looked from one to another, but there was just firm resolve in two pairs of eyes - and silent pity in the third. The oldest master's word was final. 

"Thank you for your time, esteemed Masters," he murmured and bowed deeply.

 

Shanar walked very slowly on his way to the bazaar. He had known how this application would end, but it hurt nevertheless to be rejected for things that weren't his fault.

Mehan'murad... It hurt every time Shanar was called by this name. Long ago, Murad had been a hero, like in that cursed ballad, building a splendid city north of the Walls of Ghihera. The hateful sessera, the sand demons, had ceased their attacks after the great volcano had broken out in their territory, and it had been believed they had all been destroyed. Murad followed the river up north and found a perfect place to build his city, Shir'Murad. Soon after, strange-looking, but friendly people had appeared out of nowhere, seeking shelter from the volcano's anger. They had looked like Shanar - dark-skinned, dark-haired, blue-eyed. His real father had been one of them. The people of Shir'Murad had welcomed them with open arms, finding them skillful craftsmen and capable hunters.

But the sessera weren't gone. A particularly vicious pack, called the noalkra, the black demons, rallied their forces and attacked the city just a few rainy-seasons after it had been built. Although skilled warriors, the citizens had stood no chance against their greater number. As the ballad told, Murad's city was burned down.

As expected, the Al'Menaran people held no love for the refugees fleeing back behind the safety of the wall, especially the strange-looking mixed children that now existed. They were called mehan'murad, children of Murad, but it meant only one thing: children of shame.  
Shanar took a deep breath. He had neither chosen his heritage nor his stepfather's dishonorable death which had brought even more disgrace to his family. But both would haunt and punish him forever. He might make his modest living in his own quarter, but the chances of rising to a better position were next to non-existing. The other guilds held similar misgivings about the mehan'murad, and the temples, although more tolerant, kept only a small group of musicians and only needed extra help during the festivals. 

As Shanar turned to walk down the street leading to the north well bazaar, he had to squint against the brilliant light of the suns. They reminded him of the two goldsuns he still needed for Alia's dowry, and all the goldsuns more he needed to take care of his other siblings. There was no way Nimi could join the temple under these conditions, but if he was very lucky, he might even manage to get enough for a decent dowry for her as well before she was too old. But there was still Jeana, and of course the boys. Getting a place in the narif'adir, the temples, or an apprenticeship with a craftsman or merchant would cost almost as much as the girls' dowries. Shanar had hoped that at least one of them had an ear for music, so they could become bards like him, but aside from Nimi, none of his siblings could carry a tune. Since he knew that this was a born skill, not a learned one, he had discarded that hope quickly.

As Shanar reached his usual place, he realized that he would most likely never leave this spot. He would stay and work until all of his siblings were somehow taken care of. He might grow old sitting next to the well, never accomplishing more than a few songs for an audience of bazaar visitors who thought it funny to have a mehan'murad play the Ballad of Murad. He might even die here one day, leaning against the familiar old stone and mortar of the well, the lute in gnarled fingers...

Shanar started one of his favorite tunes and forced himself to smile. This was all he could do for now.

To be continued...


	3. Verse 2 - Mourning Part I

Shanar once again stayed longer that day to earn as much money as possible. His audience was even scarcer than the day before because of the almost unbearable heat. Draught-time was the most difficult time before the next rainy-season, starting with rain-time, began. Shanar was also reminded of his parents' death during that time, making him even more miserable. He wished for the rain to start with all his heart, but it would still take a few weeks. Until then, he had to get by with his meager earnings. 

 

It was already dark when Shanar finally left his customary seat. The bazaar was still open since the merchants had the same problem with selling their wares than Shanar had with selling his service. Attuned to sensing a chance in people's moods around him, Shanar immediately noticed that there was something going on. The merchants had started to whisper, shooting worried gazes across the place.

 

"Master Kasrim, what's happening?" Shanar asked. "Is there an attack on the wall again?"

 

"It's even worse," the old man murmured. "They say that the Sovereign's heir was killed! Apparently, he was just visiting his cousin, the commander of the narif'adir, at the wall when a group of sessera attacked! They say that Prince Haruf was killed by a black spear through his heart!"

 

"May Shariha take his soul into her realm of stars," Shanar prayed softly. This was terrible news. The whole city would be in mourning, and all business would come to a halt for days. Sovereign Kahil Menar, ruler of Al'Menara, was known to be a just and strong leader, but he was getting old. All hope had been on Prince Haruf, said to be a brave warrior and level-headed character, to continue the line. Now, no one knew what would happen. 

 

Shanar tried to remember what he knew of the Menar family. Haruf had been Sovereign Kahil's only son. Haruf's cousin Yahezid, son of Kahil's younger brother and commander of the narif'adir, was a hard man, not raised to rule. Shanar particularly loathed him for being the one to deny his family any support after their father's death. The only remaining candidate for the Sovereign's throne was Haruf's young son Arevan, a child of just seven rainy-seasons. If Sovereign Kahil died before the boy came of age, chaos would rule.

 

His heart even more full of worry than usual, Shanar returned home. Alia had heard the news from their neighbors already, their version of the Prince's gruesome death even more terrible. They didn't talk about it in front of the younger children, although Nimi was old enough to understand what was going on. After she, Jeana, and the boys had gone to sleep, Shanar and Alia stayed awake, talking. 

 

After Shanar's devastating application at the tailors' guild, Alia hadn't asked for further details, but her faith in him was as strong as ever. "You just have to try again and again," she said. "You will get your chance one day, I know it! You're a wonderful musician. A talent as great as yours won't go unnoticed forever."

 

"And how, pray tell, should my talent be noticed if those people do not even give me a chance to play just one tune, sing just one song?" Shanar replied tiredly. "All they see is my face, and that is enough. Even if they could overlook it, they can't overlook what happened to Father. All this city cares about is heritage and honor. Talent doesn't count, Alia. I'm just glad that you and the little ones are no mehan'murad like I am."

 

"Don't call yourself by this horrible name!" Alia chided and grabbed his hands. Her beautiful auburn eyes suddenly held a fire of righteous fury. "You're much more worth than any other man in this city. And I'll always be proud to call you my beloved brother! You took care of me and the little ones for all those rainy-seasons, working day and night for the family! You even talked the authorities out of separating us and putting us into an orphanage, remember? The boys were just one rainy-season old, little more than babies. You've been our father and mother ever since, although you were barely old enough yourself. I've never seen anyone stronger in my life, Shanar. And because of this, I know that you'll find a way this time as well!"

 

"Thank you, Alia." Shanar managed a crooked smile. "I'm very grateful for your confidence in me. But things won't get easier from now on. The next days will be difficult with the whole city in mourning. People won't have time for music."

 

"The ceremony for the Prince will be held at the temple of Adir. Why don't you ask there if they need more musicians?" Alia suggested. 

"I wanted to try, but..."

 

"No buts. You are going," Alia decided. "And now let's go to bed. It was a long day."

 

 

 

The next morning found Shanar ready to try anew. The way to the temple of Adir was rather long; since it was the most important building of the city next to the Sovereign's palace, it was located in the center of Al'Menara. High spires painted in red and gold rose into the morning sky. A lot of people, clad in dusty-gray mourning clothes, had already assembled there to pray for the deceased Prince. Priests prepared for the ceremony by erecting a funeral pyre right in front of the entrance and pulling a gray, translucent cloth over the statue of Adir. The huge stone figure stood in the middle of the round temple hall, twice as tall a man. 

 

Shanar quickly performed the usual rites in front of the grim-looking god, depicted as a man in armor with a sword in his hand. He held no great love for Adir. The god of fire, death, and war was the protector of the city, but Shanar's patron deity was Shariha, since she was the goddess of music and storytelling. But today, he would need Adir's help.

 

Shanar had participated in the Fire Festival at the beginning of draught-time, so the priests might remember him. He addressed one of the red-clad men and asked if they needed another musician.

 

The priest, an older man with a clean-shaven head, scratched himself behind the ear. "I have to ask the Master of Ceremonies," he replied. "I remember you, lad: you played the lute and sang the fire chorale. I will see what I can do for you."

 

Shanar waited impatiently until the priest returned, looking around the temple. The cremation would take place tonight, as soon as the suns had set. Tomorrow, there would be long ceremonies during the day, since the favored time to worship Adir was noon. If he managed to get this work, he might get at least half as much as he had gotten during the Fire Festival which lasted three days. This would mean he'd get one goldsun.

 

Finally, the priest returned with another by his side, which Shanar knew as the assistant to the Master of Ceremonies. "Bard Shanar, good to see you again. If you are looking for work, we will gladly hire you for the funeral," he said.

 

Shanar smiled and bowed deeply. "Thank you, Priest Samil. When shall I return?"

 

"Be here one hour before sunset," Samil answered. "You only have to bring your instrument; we will have gray robes for you."

 

Shanar thanked him again. It was horrible to think like this, but the Prince's death had brought some good to his life at least. 

 

_ To be continued... _


	4. Verse 2 - Mourning Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Alia was overjoyed to hear that Shanar had work at the temple. Since all business was forbidden today, it was no use going to the bazaar. All day long, Shanar helped Alia and Nimi around the house and continued some much-needed lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic with the younger siblings. Merchants and craftsmen mostly only knew how to calculate their earnings and costs, barely able to sign their names, but Shanar insisted on all his siblings learning these things. He vividly remembered his grandfather teaching him and showing him the importance of the written word.  
In the afternoon, he made his way back to the temple. Once again, he had put on his grandfather's good luck charm. It might not have helped him at the tailors' guild, but it sure had this morning.   
At the temple, he met with a dozen other musicians in a back room. They all changed into simple gray robes and wound long red scarves around their heads to form a turban. Shanar's darker skin still made him stand out, but this was quickly remedied by the covering of ash they all had to smear onto their faces. After tuning their instruments and organizing their order, they went out into the main hall.  
The repertoire was simple: At first, a choir of adoration for Adir, followed by the traditional mourning chant. Another song asking for Adir's blessing ended the ceremony while everyone went out to watch the funeral pyre.  
The Prince's corpse, hidden under a red cloth, was already lying on the altar beneath the veiled statue of Adir. The High Priest, wearing long red robes, lit the braziers surrounding it. As the doors of the temple were opened, Shanar and the other musicians started to play. The High Priest stepped forward, greeting the Sovereign's family as they slowly walked in. Behind them, the whole court followed, led by the three most noble families: the Kha'als, the Anessirs, and the Talmans. A guard of honor flanked them, raising their swords in salute.   
Shanar, automatically singing the choir of adoration, watched the nobles with interest. What would he give to be the court bard of one of those families! Although in mourning, all of them had managed to wear their gray robes in a way that showed wealth and elegance. The first in line was of course the Sovereign himself, Kahil Menar. Shanar had seen him already during the festivals and was shocked to notice how old he now looked. The grief over his son's death must have robbed him of all strength. Nevertheless, he was still a tall, proud man with a neatly trimmed white beard and sharp, bird of prey-like eyes.  
Next to him stood his grandson, Prince Arevan. This was the first time for the child to join an official ceremony - usually, the noble children didn't went out into public until they were at least ten rainy-seasons old. The boy was small for his age and slim, his face a mask of barely concealed pain beneath a shock of flaming red hair.   
A step behind them stood Yahezid, commander of the narif'adir, in his full armor, face hidden behind the visor of his helmet. Next to him was his father Yago, a slightly younger and much fatter version of Kahil, and a veiled woman, his wife Taira. Prince Haruf's wife, Princess Amina, was nowhere to be seen; if the rumors were true, she was of weak health, so she was probably staying in the palace to grief on her own.  
Shanar's gaze went back to the young Prince. It must be very hard for the child to be here and keep such a calm manner.  
The choir ended, and the High Priest began with his speech, calling to Adir to give Haruf's soul safe passage into the realm of stars. The he signed to start the mourning chant. It was a beautiful solo, traditionally sung by the youngest bard in the group in a clear, simple, unbroken voice. Shanar and the others therefore expected their break to continue.  
But the young man in question, barely of age, froze. He had been very nervous already, but now he sat there, face dark-red, and gasped for air.   
A tense whisper rose from the crowd as the ceremony was interrupted this way. This was not good. If the Sovereign was unhappy with the bards, they might not get paid at all. It was also bad luck to affront the gods with an interrupted ceremony.  
Shanar let half a second pass before he decided. He quickly rose and started to sing the mourning chant himself.

Pray for the souls  
That leave this world  
Pray for the souls  
That have ended their journey  
Pray for the souls   
That go home in peace  
Pray for the souls  
That return to Shariha's arms

Pray for the souls  
That remain in this world  
Pray for the souls  
That still have ways to go  
Pray for the souls  
That always remember  
Pray for the souls  
That the gods haven't called yet

Pray for the dead  
Pray for the living  
Pray to Mukar to guide us  
Pray to Adan to heal us  
Pray to Adir to protect us   
Pray to Shariha to embrace us  
Pray for the souls  
That live forever

Shanar's voice, although it held no longer the flute-like quality of a boy's, was rather high and clear, easily carrying through the hall. It was wonderful to sing solo in such a room. Shanar closed his eyes and enjoyed every note for he was sure that he would never again get this chance. There was a warm feeling inside his chest as the familiar words flowed from his lips. The last time he had sung this chant, it had been for his parents' cremation. Back then, it had helped him to cope with the grief that had been almost too much to bear. Maybe it could now help another sad little boy.  
When the last note had faded, it was deafeningly silent in the temple. Shanar opened his eyes again, realizing that all the people present were staring at him. Even more, there were tears in many eyes. Even Sovereign Kahil and the hardened soldiers looked moved. Shanar held his breath - never before had he gotten such a reaction. Once again, he looked at Prince Arevan. The painful composure was gone, and the child was crying silently.  
Shanar sat down again. Even his fellow musicians had wet streaks marring the ash in their faces.  
The High Priest cleared his throat, obviously shaken as well, before he continued. He told of Prince Haruf's great deeds and courage, praising his skills as a warrior and future leader.   
The mood had changed since his song, Shanar noticed. The depressing atmosphere was gone, making place for open grief and now, first signs of comfort as the people listened to the heroic recounts. When the musicians started their next song, Shanar was singing under his breath, concentrating on his lute playing. Somehow, he didn't dare to raise his voice again.

 

After the ceremony was over, the young bard thanked Shanar. "I'm sorry I froze," he said with a embarrassed smile. "I guess I wasn't really prepared. But in the end it seemed for the best. I've never heard someone sing like this before!"  
"He's right," one of the older bards remarked. "That was incredible. I didn't know you were this good. You should try to become a court bard for one the noble families. They all heard you and were moved."  
"Thank you," Shanar replied. "I had hoped to get a chance like this somehow. But they might be put off if they see that I'm, well, not an Al'Menaran."  
The older bard smiled. "You'd be surprised. I heard only recently that having exotic-looking servants at the house is all the fashion among the nobles now. Your looks might even become an advantage."  
Shanar was truly surprised to hear this. But if it was true, he might actually be able to find a wealthy employer. The question was how to get to them. He couldn't just simply walk up to one of the lords and ask if he needed a bard. But there was still a full day of ceremonies at the temple with all the nobles present to think of a way. And maybe, one of them would approach him.

 

Shanar returned home very late at night and kept quiet as not to wake his siblings. Way before dawn, he was again gone to help prepare for the ceremonies. Today's program would be far more complicated, with a dozen different songs and musical pieces. After the little interruption last night, the oldest bard, traditionally the leader, had decided that the little group needed to rehearse together before they started with their work.   
This precaution was rewarded with a flawless program that went by much swifter than Shanar had imagined. In between, his gaze went back to the Sovereign's family and the members of the three other noble clans. Although there was no opportunity to catch their attention again, he dearly hoped one of them would ask the priests for his name. He just had to be patient and continue to do his best.   
The ceremony went way in to the evening again, leaving Shanar tired, hungry, and still without any offer. What he got, however, was one solid goldsun, safely tucked inside his pocket. All things considered, this had been well worth it.  
The suns had long set, and the streets were unusually quiet since all business had been suspended for the time of mourning. There was no light shining from the small windows of his family's house although it wasn't that late.   
Suddenly, Shanar had a very bad feeling. It increased as he noticed the door standing slightly ajar. Carefully, he pushed it open.  
His heart almost stopped at the sight before him. The whole room was in disarray, furniture and crockery scattered and broken. Nimi sat in a corner, face pale and expressionless, Akil and Siran tucked in her arms, crying softly. Alia knelt next to Jeana who was lying on the floor, not moving. Her right arm was twisted, and there was blood in her hair.  
"What happened?" Shanar gasped, rushing in. "By the gods, what happened here?"  
Alia turned her face toward him; there was a bruise on her left cheek. "Thieves. They stormed in and asked for the money you had saved up for my dowry. They grabbed Jeana and twisted her arm... They threatened to... I had to..." She closed her eyes. "They took everything and ran off. Just moments ago."

To be continued...


	5. Verse 3 - Coins and Chains Part I

Shanar sank to his knees next to her and gently cradled Jeana's head. "We have to get a healer," he whispered. "There's Mistress Samaris' practice right down the street. Go and fetch her!"  
Alia nodded and stormed out of the house. Shanar looked at Nimi. "Are you and the boys alright?"  
Nimi nodded silently, hugging her little brothers closer to her.   
Shanar carefully lifted Jeana from the ground and lay her down on her bed before he re-lit the lanterns. His mind felt like it was in the midst of a sandstorm, his movements automatic and unconscious.   
Half an eternity seemed to pass until Alia finally returned with a small, plump woman wrapped in a shawl. "Alia told me everything," she said. "Now fetch me fresh water and clean cloth. Put the lanterns next to the bed!"  
Shanar and Alia obeyed immediately as the healer went to work. She carefully cleaned Jeana's head wound, a deep gash right above her right temple, and wrapped it in a bandage. After that she went to examine the arm. "This is badly broken," she stated. "The bone has splintered, I can feel it. I need to make a cut and take out the little pieces of bone, otherwise it will never heal properly. The arm could be stiff forever."  
"Do what you must," Shanar whispered. "Just help her!"   
The thought of Jeana not being able to use her arm again was terrible. The society of Al'Menara was very strict about any kind of disabilities, safe for the injuries a soldier might suffer in battle against the sessera. Crippled people were sent out of town, and if a blind or hunchbacked child was born to a family, it was immediately left in the desert. The only place to welcome those children was the temple of Adan, but only wealthy families could afford the high sum they asked for. And often enough, they did not even want to. With a crippled arm, Nimi would never be able to find work or get a husband. She would be cast out of the city like a criminal to be eaten by wild beasts.  
In the flickering light of the lamps, Mistress Samaris carefully made a cut in Nimi's upper arm and took out sickeningly white little pieces of bone that she dropped into a bowl Alia held with shaking fingers. Shanar was holding Nimi down in case she might wake up and panic, but she was still unconscious, her usually lively face pale and still.   
Finally, the healer was finished, neatly sewing up the wound and setting the bone with a strong piece of wood taken from one of the broken chairs. She gave Shanar a little flask with a milky fluid. "Give this to her when she wakes up, as well as some water. She'll fall asleep again and won't feel any pain. I'll come back tomorrow morning to look after her."  
Alia and Shanar thanked her profoundly as she left. When they were alone again, the young woman burst into tears.   
Shanar took her into his arms. "She'll be alright," he murmured. "Now please tell me what happened! How did those thieves know we had the money?"  
"They said they overheard Master Kasrim talking," Nimi said. Her voice was steady and calm, but she was still deathly pale. Thankfully, the twins had stopped sobbing and had fallen asleep in her arms. "He told someone at the market that his younger son was going to marry Alia and that you were playing at the mourning ceremony."  
"Did you know those men?" Shanar asked. "I cannot imagine our neighbors to do such a thing!"  
"No, they were strangers. They had cold eyes like deadeater birds, the rest of their faces hidden." Nimi shuddered. "They said they'd bribe one of the guards at the gate so they could leave the city at night."  
"And they took everything?"  
Alia nodded sadly. "Every single goldsun. They came in here and demanded the money. I told them to leave, but they hit me and grabbed Jeana. They twisted her arm and threatened to break her neck if I didn't get them the money. When they had it, one ran off with it. The other waited a moment, then threw Jeana against the wall and fled as well."  
"May Adir burn their eyes out!" Shanar cursed. "I should have been here!" He knew that it was useless to send the guards after them if no one had seen their faces. So far, the neighborhood had been peaceful and supportive, with no serious crimes happening. But all it had taken was a pair of greedy, ruthless men accidentally getting some fatal information.  
"Then they would have waited for another time until we were alone," Alia reasoned. "It's not your fault!"  
"What are we going to do now, Shanar?" Nimi asked.  
Her big brother took a deep breath. "We do what we can. Nimi, put the boys into their beds, then we clean up this mess." He hesitated before he pulled out the goldsun he had earned today. "Let's put this away safely. We'll need it to pay Mistress Samaris and buy new furniture."

 

Neither Shanar nor his sisters slept that night. A few hours later, Jeana woke up, blinking in disorientation as first, but able to speak coherently. After Alia gave her the medicine, she fell asleep again, just as Mistress Samaris had said.   
After a thorough cleanup, the little house was in order again, albeit a bit empty. Some of the furniture had survived the attack, but a lot of it had to be replaced.   
A soon as the suns had risen, Mistress Samaris returned to examine Jeana again. The girl had woken up and was able to answer questions about how she was feeling. Thankfully, the medicine was working well, so she wasn't in any pain. Samaris was satisfied as well and told Shanar that she believed in a full recovery. "She just has to stay in bed and not move her arm until I allow her to. I'll come back regularly to check on her."  
"We are very grateful, Mistress. How much do we owe you?" Shanar asked.  
The older woman smiled. "After what you just went through, I will only charge you the flask of pain medicine, which is, unfortunately, not easy to come by and cost me 30 redsuns on the market. You can pay me when draught-time is over."  
"Thank you. You'll get your fee as soon as possible," Shanar promised. "And Jeana's arm will be alright?"  
"As long as she behaves, I think it will heal well," Samaris replied. "There might still be some complications, but it's too early to know. Just keep her in bed."  
After she had left, Alia made breakfast from the meager rests that were still palatable. None of them was very hungry, but they all ate as much as they could. The boys, robust little children that they were, had suffered the least and were already playing again. Nimi had recovered well, although her serious little face now looked even more grown up than before. She stayed with Jeana and kept the boys from making too much noise as Alia went out to the market to buy new crockery and food.  
Shanar grabbed his lute to go out to work although it felt absolutely senseless. Of course they needed every little redsun he could get, but it would be just enough to get by. He had taken four rainy-seasons to safe up Alia's dowry. Now, Master Kasrim would never wait as long again for his son to marry. Before his night, Shanar's family had been in a tight spot. Today, it was hopeless. There was no way for all the girls to get a good place in life, not even to speak of the boys. They all had to stay at home, relying on Shanar's sole support. And they'd all starve to death if anything was to happen to him. All that would be left for them was to beg in the streets or sell themselves to strangers...  
Shanar stopped in his tracks. It was possible to sell oneself officially into indentured servitude in return for a certain amount of money. The higher the skills, the higher the price and the less the time to work it off. Buyers from the noble families usually attended the auction to acquire cooks, secretaries, or dancers.  
He couldn't believe he was even considering this. But was there any other choice? Shanar quickly calculated. 20 goldsuns for Alia's dowry, 30 for Nimi's fee to join the temple, another 20 for Jeana, and 15 each for the boys to learn a trade because they had no ear for music and couldn't become bards. That made the ludicrous amount of one hundred goldsuns.   
Shanar took a deep breath. Who would pay this much money for a lowly bard? And even if so, how long would he have to serve? Thirty or forty rainy-seasons? A whole life? Even if he got the money, he might never see his family again.  
When Shanar had reached his usual spot at the well, things were looking so normal around him that he almost couldn't believe it. Nobody had learned of the attack so far, and it was important that it remained this way. Master Kasrim smiled at him as usual, offering some fruits. Shanar couldn't blame him. The old man had been a bit careless, but it was not his fault. It had just been bad timing.  
When Shanar asked for favorite songs, ironically, someone called for The greedy Man's Chains.

Golden coins and golden chains  
That is all the greedy gains.  
The greedy counting coins by day  
But in his sleep, in chains he lay -  
Golden chains weighted him down,  
Shackle, fetter, bonds that own -  
Own him, as he thought he did  
With all the gold that he had hid  
Inside his house, under this bed.  
See where being greedy led!  
All the money that he gains  
Is nothing more but heavy chains.

Although a sound warning, Shanar had never wished so hard in his life to have that greedy man's problem switched with his own. Having no coin at all was weighting him down even heavier than all the gold in Badal'Shari.

To be continued...


	6. Verse 3 - Coins and Chains Part II

The rest of the day, Shanar was thinking about the slave auction. Although it was a stupid idea, he couldn't think of any better. And of course, he couldn't speak to anyone about this. His siblings would be appalled, never wanting for him to sacrifice himself for their sake. The only other option would be an offer from one of the noble families, but a position there was not much different from slavery and could be canceled again if he displeased anyone by accident. If he sold himself, his family would get the whole amount of money right now, and any further consequences would rest on his shoulders alone.  
After finishing his day early, but with decent results, Shanar crossed the city to reach the slave market. He had to confirm a few things first before he pondered this option any further. The market was housed in a semi-round building with a little stage to present the merchandise to a select audience. A fat, bald man in elegantly embroidered clothing greeted him as he stepped through the door.  
"Good evening, young man. I'm Karum. How can I help you?"  
"I'd like to know more about the conditions of indentured servitude," Shanar replied, feeling the man's beady eyes raking over his body.   
"Of course! Well, at first we establish your talents and the amount of money you wish to gain. If we think it possible, you sign a contract and be put on auction for the noble families and some other wealthy merchants. If they pay the right price, the contract is sealed. Any further money will go to me. If they do not bid enough, your contract will be offered to the public service. There, you will work for the rest of your life. This, of course, only applies to craftsmen, scribes, and the like." Karum rubbed his hands together. "Now, a young and exotic-looking person like yourself might fetch a good price. I assume you are some kind of... entertainer?" The way he stretched the word suggested he did think about something different than a musician or juggler.  
"I'm a bard," Shanar replied, trying to remain calm. "I sing and play the lute skillfully. I can also read, write, and do calculus."  
"Is that so?" Karum raised his eyebrows, his interest obviously piqued further. "And what amount of money do you need?"  
"One hundred goldsuns," Shanar told him.   
"One hundred? By Mukar, you're not modest, young man, not modest in the least!" Karum exclaimed. "But if you are truly as skilled as you claim, we might be able to get this sum for you. Exotic-looking entertainers are all the fashion now, but there are so few to come by."  
This was the first good news. "And if someone pays this much, how many years would I have to serve?" he asked.  
"Ten rainy-seasons are the minimum," Karum replied. "There are no contracts that are any shorter. But you're young and... Wait, how old are you exactly? The younger, the better, but you have to be of legal age, at least."  
"18 rainy-seasons."  
"That's good. Well, take your time and think about it," Karum suggested. "I believe this will work out. And in the unlikely case you will not be bought, we can always use a skilled scribe in public service. You would have to serve for the rest of your life, of course."  
Shanar promised to think it over and left. 

 

Back at home, Shanar lost no words about what he had done. If he really wanted to go through with this, he had to do so in secret. It would be horrible not to be able to say goodbye properly, but his siblings would never let him go. He didn't sleep well that night, thinking about various other possibilities. But there were none to get this much money. Another more ruthless man might have decided to sell one of his siblings to secure the well-being of all the others. Pretty girls always found a buyer. But the thought of someone touching his sister Alia was so revolting that Shanar would rather die than let this happen. It had to be himself or no one.  
Early the next morning, Shanar had come to a conclusion. He would go back to the temple of Adir and ask if some of the lords had inquired after him. Then he would ask the Master of Ceremonies for a reference to go to the other temples and present himself there once more in the hope that they needed a new musician. If that failed, he would write some letters.

 

"I'm very sorry, Bard Shanar, but nobody asked for you," Samil told him. The priest had written him a reference and they were now talking in a little office next to the great temple hall. "The Sovereign himself thanked the High Priest for a beautiful service and the excellent music, but that was all."  
"I don't understand. You saw how moved everyone was by my song, and I heard that mehan'murad entertainers are sought," Shanar replied. "I had really hoped that someone would inquire after my services."  
Samil shook his bald head. "I think the problem is that everyone was so moved," he replied and solemnly looked at Shanar. "This kind of music was perfect for soothing these wounded hearts, yes. But this city is a city of warriors who can't allow any weaknesses. And their leaders want happy, encouraging songs inside their walls, not sad ones."  
"I can sing happy songs!" Shanar exclaimed. "Well, I mostly play ballads with heroic or tragic stories..."  
"You see? Noble people don't want that, I guess."  
"But if my talent is perfect for soothing hearts, as you said, why not employ me here at the temple?" Shanar didn't want to give up yet.  
Samil sighed. "You know very well that we do not need more than three musicians outside the festival or important ceremonies like Prince Haruf's funeral. And our musicians are good, you know them. Good and unobtrusive. The Master of Ceremonies and the High Priest want to have it this way. Do you think I didn't speak on your behalf already? They fear it would be too troubling for the people. We can't have hardened warriors cry like little babies in these halls."  
There was no way to protest against this. They had decided. "Thank you for speaking for me, Priest Samil," Shanar murmured, lowering his head. "This was very generous of you."  
"May the gods light your way, young Bard," Samil replied. "I'm sure you will find a place where your extraordinary gifts will be valued."  
Shanar nodded and left. He still had three other temples to visit, although his heart was heavy with Samil's words. Was there really something like too much of a good thing in regards of talent? 

 

The evening found Shanar in an even worse mood. They all were happy to employ him for a day or two at a festival, but none of the temples had any regular work to offer. The temple of Shariha only kept a staff of all-female musicians, the temple of Mukar needed only drummers, and the temple of Adan kept no regular musicians at all, training some of the unwanted children they cared for in their ceremonial songs. As he arrived there, a small group of young boys, all blind or crippled, rehearsed a chorale, their innocent voices moving Shanar the core. Especially one child with while-blonde hair and unseeing eyes, pale like morning mist, sang extraordinary beautiful. Shanar stayed for a while to listen, knowing that compared to these children, his situation and that of his siblings was almost luxurious.   
But if Jeana's arm didn't heal properly... No, he couldn't think about that. All he could do was was wait for her to get better - and then leave.

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I'll be away on holidays. Updates will resume on September 1st.


	7. Verse 4 - Sold (Part I)

 

The next few weeks passed without incidents. Shanar went to the well as usual to earn as much money as possible. Jeana's arm healed well although she complained about being confined to the house. Draught-time was almost over, the last few days almost unbearably hot. Very soon, the rain would started, bringing all life back. As the first drops fell, the people danced in the streets, singing and praising the gods for their gift. 

The flooding festival of Mukar was soon to begin, but since they always needed only drummers at the temple, Shanar had no hope of gaining anything from it. The constant rain also made it impossible to sit outside because the bazaar was now one big mud hole, so the family had to live off the meager savings of the last weeks. Shanar and Alia soon started to ration their food so that the little ones wouldn't go hungry. Rain-time also meant that the following sowing-time was drawing nearer and nearer.

Alia had also stopped encouraging Shanar to find new employments because she knew there were none. She kept quiet, smiled and worked, but at night, Shanar could her her cry.

 

And then one day, when the rain had become drizzle and Mistress Samaris finally declared Jeana healed and got her payment for the medicine, Shanar knew the time had come. That evening, he sang the childrens' favorite songs, and it was like a little festivity. Now and then, he felt Alia's gaze on him. She was suspecting something, he knew it. But he just smiled and continued to play. His song, however, told a different story. 

 

You walk with the winds, my friend

Through storms, night and day

Will your journey never end?

Through deserts, far away

 

You walk with the winds, my friend

Under moons and suns

My good wishes I can send

Through the sand that runs

 

You walk with the winds, my friend

Never to come home

All the days that we have spent

Are now spent alone

 

 

Very early the next morning, Shanar quietly went up. He placed a letter on the table and packed his few things he wanted to take with him. He didn't know how many personal items he was allowed to keep, but his grandfather's lute and good luck charm had to accompany him. He tiptoed to the childrens' bed, kissed them on the foreheads and stroked their tousled hair. As he bowed down to do the same with Alia, the girl opened her eyes. 

"I know you're going to do something stupid," she whispered. "Tell me: is there any way to keep you from it?"

Shanar shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no. Please tell the others that I love them. And... invent some story for them. I don't want them to think badly of me."

"They would never do that, whatever you do," Alia replied, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes into the pillow. "Our love goes with you, Shanar. Remember that always."

"Promise me to be happy, Alia. Sell the house so you have enough money to take care of the others when you marry Sehan." Shanar leaned down and kissed her cheek. It was wet from her tears and his. Just one small word, but it was as heavy as a dozen stones around his neck, pulling him down. "Goodbye."

 

 

Outside, it was still cold and damp, the suns not yet risen. Shanar felt numb and empty as he went down the familiar, winding streets of his quarter. Only the gods knew when he would walk them again. He crossed over to the center of town, heading for the slave market. Despite the early hour, it was already open. Master Karum was dictating a hastily scribbling secretary a list of new merchandise. He stopped and smiled as he saw Shanar.

"Young bard, welcome back! So you've decided?"

Shanar nodded. "Yes. Where do I sign?"

Half an hour later the deal was finished. Shanar had written a few more letters and gave them to Karum with explicit instructions to deliver them along with the money: Alia's dowry of 20 goldsuns for Master Kasrim and 30 goldsuns for the temple of Shariha to accept Nimi. The rest of the money would be delivered to Alia in five rainy-seasons when Jeana came of age and the boys were old enough to become apprentices of a trade.

"Well, and now for the auction. The next will be held this afternoon," Karum explained. "I'll add you to the list. You go now and let yourself be made presentable."

Shanar followed an older woman into the back rooms of the market. "You are allowed to keep any tools necessary for your trade and one personal item," she explained. "I'll take you to the baths. We have new clothes for you."

Although used to public baths, Shanar suddenly felt self-conscious as a bunch of middle-aged women expected him there and started to undress and wash him with the impersonal, practical efficiency one might bathe a child. They rubbed scented oil into his hair and skin and even plucked some unruly hairs from his eyebrows. The only article of clothing they gave him was a simple white loincloth.

"Master Karum might ask you to remove it during the auction," one of the woman told him. "Then you better obey without hesitation."

Shanar looked at her in alarm. "Why would he ask that?"

The women giggled. "Dear boy, some of the bidders want to see every little detail of their future property. But you've got nothing to be ashamed of. Did you hear that people like you are very popular at the moment? During one of the last auctions, a very pretty young woman about your age was sold for 200 goldsuns."

This was good news for his hopes to get enough bids for his service, so Shanar didn't protest any further. He would survive the stares of strange people. He was used to it. 

 

_ To be continued... _

 


	8. Verse 4 - Sold (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

 

Time passed much quicker than he had expected. After the bath, he got a simple meal and some time alone in a little room to sleep. All the worries of the last weeks had exhausted him, and now that a solution was in grasping range, he could finally sleep. 

One of the servant women woke him some hours later, combed his hair again and then led him into a waiting chamber right behind the little stage. There, he met the other merchandise available today: a huge, scarred man with a sinister face, a small, elderly woman, a slim young man a bit older than himself, and a pretty girl, barely of age. Although she had nothing in common with his sisters appearance-wise, her little frightened face reminded Shanar of them. He wondered why she was here and if it was of her own free will. Maybe her family had urged her into selling herself for their sake or maybe she hadn't seen another way, like himself. Shanar smiled at her, hoping to give her some confidence. She smiled back shyly. 

There was no time to talk to her, however. The servants shushed them, and from the stage, they could hear Master Karum greeting his guests.

"Most esteemed customers, today I have some special treats for you - three men and two women, all very skilled and impressive-looking. We start the auction with a skilled warrior, the ideal bodyguard for your household..." The scarred man stepped onto the stage, after him the older woman who turned out to be a seamstress and the other young man, a skilled carpenter. They all sold for good money, albeit a long shot away from a hundred goldsuns. 

"A treat for the eyes", Karum continued. "A beautiful young woman to add to your household as a servant. She can clean, cook, and sow." As the young woman stepped forward, Shanar almost felt the greedy eyes on her. It was clear that the bidders did not care if she could actually do something.

After a few moments of heated bidding, she was sold for seventy goldsuns.

Shanar took a deep breath. It was his turn. 

"And now for the highlight of this auction, most esteemed customers: a young, skilled bard to complete your collection of exotic-looking entertainers. He can sing and play the lute in the most enchanting way, and he can support your household as a scribe as well." The servants gave him a little push, but Shanar stepped up on the stage quickly. 

"A mehan'murad, just 18 rainy-seasons," Karum continued and waved for Shanar to come closer. "As you know, honorable customers, the mehan'murad make for especially dedicated servants that are grateful for the kind reception we gave them after the tragedy of their city. And this lad will make an exceptional and skilled servant to grace your household. He will follow every command with eagerness."

The auction hall was full of people, and all their eyes were on him. Appreciative murmurs rose from the crowd. And suddenly, Shanar realized something crucial: Karum had never once asked him to show his skills although he had just praised them. He had of course seen that Shanar could read and write while they were discussing the terms of the contract, but he had never asked for a single song. This meant only one thing: just like the young woman, he wasn't about to be bought for his talents, but solely for his looks. The thought of someone finding him attractive was still so alien to him that he had never considered it, but now, his finely-tuned senses for a crowd's mood picked up an eagerness that made his skin crawl. Suddenly, he felt like a mogi at the meat market, ready to be slaughtered and devoured.

"The bidding starts at fifty goldsuns. - Turn around," Karum ordered. While Shanar slowly obeyed, the customers shouted their offers. The sum rose to sixty quickly, then seventy, then eighty. Just a bit more...

"Ninety goldsuns!" someone shouted, but no one followed.

"Just ninety goldsuns for this gem?" Karum asked. "My most honored and exalted customers, surely you can do better. - Lad, drop that loincloth. I think some gentlemen need further encouraging."

For the first time, Shanar was grateful for his dark skin that hid his blush of furious humiliation. Even the cheapest whore in the poorest part of town had left more dignity than he had in this moment. Willing his fingers not to shake, he pulled at the strings of the loincloth and then let the little piece of clothing fall to the floor.

With a stony face, he watched the bidding start again, and quicker this time. In seconds, the mark of 100 goldsuns was passed, then 150, then 200, before finally, the sum of 250 goldsuns was called out.

He didn't look down to the crowd to see who had bought him. He had won.

 

 

"You are really lucky," one of the older servant women whispered when they helped him clothe himself. This time, he also got trousers, sandals, and a tunic, all in simple white. "Do you realize who bought you?"

"No." Shanar shook his head. "And frankly, I don't care."

"I was the buyer of the Sovereign's household himself!" she told him. "We see him here often, especially when a mehan'murad like you is for sale. Someone at the palace likes them very much as servants."

The Sovereign's household... the palace... Shanar had always dreamed that some day, he would serve in such high company and delight the nobles with their music. But now, he would be lucky if he would even get a chance to demonstrate his skills. Maybe they'd put a collar on him and lead him around like a tame anushi. Karum had certainly made it sound like every mehan'murad was nothing more than a child-like creature looking up to his betters in adoration. 

It was disgusting.

The senior servant, a severe-looking woman with gray hair and lightly more ornate clothing, took his arm and inspected the tattoo on the back of his hand that every mehan'shari citizen had: an intricate pattern showing the family name, home town, the deity one served with his or her profession, and as appropriate, the marital status.

"We have some special ink designed to fade after a certain time," she told him. "Give me the ink for ten rainy-seasons," she instructed of of the younger women. "The sign of the Menar family will be added, together with a sign showing your status of a slave and not a family member." After she had gotten the little phial and the sharp feather, she held Shanar's hand with a practiced, firm grip to prick the tattoo into his skin. It barely hurt, but it was almost as humiliating as dropping his loincloth in front of an audience. This little red tattoo in the form of three rings wound around his little finger was as bad as a collar.

Ten years suddenly seemed like eternity.

"Well, well, well, what a lucky day. Thank Mukar for this wonderful business!" Karum was joining them, rubbing his hands gleefully. "Have you heard already? The Sovereign's household himself! And such a handsome sum for you! I wish people like you would walk in here every day."

Shanar grit his teeth and just inclined his head. "Thank you for taking care of me, Master Karum," he said demurely. "I will be everything you promised to the buyer."

"As expected! Now come and take your belongings, he's waiting outside. Is the tattoo finished? Excellent. Hurry!"

Shanar nodded goodbye to the servant women and quickly followed Karum outside. 

The buyer was a tall man with a stern face, piercing dark eyes and a bald head like a priest, but he wore the fine clothes of a noble and a sword like a trained warrior.

"Shanar, meet Master Asnam Malhad, overseer of the Sovereign's household. Master Asnam, this is the new addition to the palace, Bard Shanar."

Shanar bowed deeply.

Master Asnam's cool face didn't betray anything as he said, "Thank you, Karum. As always, you offer good merchandise." He gave the grinning Karum a big purse that looked heavy. "Follow me, Shanar."

 

 

The way to the palace wasn't far. Shanar kept close for fear of Asnam thinking he might stray. The tall man didn't look back as he made his way across the crowded places and streets and then up the broad stairs to the palace where armored guards of the narif'adir stood in silent watch. They saluted when they recognized Asnam and opened the huge, double-winged doors.

Shanar couldn't help but stare as they entered. From the outside, the palace was just an unadorned white building with a dome like the temples, and two flanking spires. But the inside was like a completely different world. The walls and the ceiling were covered with intricate ornaments carved out of wood, painted on glazed tiles or woven into tapestries. The floor, more glazed tiles, was almost invisible under the thick layers of lush carpets. Even the smell was different: a thick, sweet fragrance, similar of the incense at the temple, was emanating from little coal braziers. Empty corridors and antechambers finally gave way to a beautiful inner courtyard the like Shanar had never seen. There was an artificial pool in the center, flanked by small trees and flower bushes. Water lilies lazily floated on the water's surface, sometimes disturbed by glittering golden fish. 

Shanar hadn't noticed that he had stopped to gawk like a desert farmer on his first trip to the city until Asnam stopped and said, "This is only one of several inner courtyards, and not even the biggest. Come on."

Quickly, Shanar followed. A hundred questions were whirling around in his head, but this stern man wasn't the right person to ask them. Hopefully, the other servants would be a bit more approachable. After more lavish rooms and hallways, they reached an area that was simpler and more familiar. These had to be the servant quarters. Asnam stopped in front of a door in a hallway and then opened it, revealing a small room with a simple bed. "You will sleep here. All servants with special skills have their own rooms. I will send new clothes. This evening, I will present you to the current head of this household, Lady Taira. She will decide on your duties."

"May I ask a question?" Shanar finally dared. When Asnam didn't reply, he went on, "Why did you buy me? I mean, you don't know if I'm a good bard. I am, but..."

"That wasn't important. Lady Taira likes mehan'murad servants, so I buy every one I can get for her."

"So I'll be serving her?"

"You will serve whoever will give you orders in this palace, except for the other servants," Asnam replied. "Now get in and wait for me to fetch you later."

With these words, Shanar was left alone.

 

_ To be continued... _


	9. Verse 5 - A golden Cage (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I'll be away on holidays. Updates will resume on October 20th. Have a good time!

 

The small house of his family hadn't allowed for single bedrooms, so not sharing the sleeping quarters with anyone was new to Shanar. Never before in his life, he had had this much space all to himself. Aside from the bed, there was a clothes chest, a wash basin, and coal braziers to warm the air in cool nights. 

Shanar safely stored away his lute, put on his good luck charm (he had no idea if he was allowed to, but he would try) and sat down on the bed. It had all happened far too quickly. 

But there was no time to think. Moments later, someone knocked on the door, and a young woman entered. She was mehan'murad like himself, with her skin a lighter tone than his, but curling hair that was black as night. Her eyes were a silvery gray the likes he had never seen before. She smiled at him, albeit a bid sadly. "Welcome to the palace. I'm Sharistani. Master Asnam sent me to bring you new clothes."

"Thank you. My name is Shanar. Are you allowed to talk to me for a moment? I have so many questions," Shanar replied.

She nodded. "Master Asnam thought you might have." She stepped in and put the bundle of clothes on the chest before she sat down next to him on the bed. Sharistani seemed to be a few years older than himself and was exceptionally beautiful which was even more highlighted by the black make-up around her eyes, the glittering pearls in her hair and the revealing clothing. It consisted of little more than scraps of blue and gold embroidered cloth covering her chest and her hips, held together by thin chains and ribbons. More chains were wound around her ankles and gave a tinkling sound with every step.

"What are your duties here in the palace? And how long have you been here?"

"I came here one rainy-season ago. Back then, people like us weren't that asked for, but Lady Taira had already taken a liking to us. I'm a dancer and I can play the timbrel. Master Asnam said you were a bard, so we will perform together. Lady Taira is set on assembling a musical group consisting only of our kind. We also have another musician, Julanar. She plays the flute." Shanar noticed that she, like him, didn't use the degrading expression "mehan'murad".

"Are they... I mean, are you treated well?" he asked carefully.

Sharistani gave him another sad little smile. "Before I came here, I was starving on the streets, forced to privately... entertain men with sweaty hands for a few extra coins after they had watched me dance. Here, I have good food, a nice room, and I can bathe every day."

"And... the men?" Shanar immediately regretted the question since he already knew the answer.

Sharistani stood up. "Change into the new clothes. You hair looks fine, but I assume the lady will send her hairdressers to get some beads into it. Good thing that it is so long. The bathing facilities are down the hall, beyond the green door. Don't wander around any further until you have your duties and know where to go."

Shanar nodded. "Thank you, Sharistani. It's good to have a friend here."

That made her smile in an unrestricted way for the first time. "That's true. We have more time to talk later. Just settle in and try to make a good impression on Lady Taira."

"I'll try. Just one more thing: why is Lady Taira running the household? I thought Princess Amina was the highest-ranking lady at the Palace?"

Sharistani's expression fell again. "Lady Amina has been unwell for some time, and the sudden death of her husband didn't make things any better. Therefore, Lady Taira has been in charge."

"Any ideas on how to make a good impression on her?" Shanar asked.

"Be docile and agree to everything she says," the young woman advised him. "And if you should come across her son, Commander Yahezid... try to be invisible. He does not... care much for our kind, but he indulges his mother’s fancies."

That was helpful advice. "And what about the other members of the family?"

"The Sovereign keeps to himself, dedicated to his duties. His brother Prince Yago I do not see much either, so I have no idea what he is doing all day long. Lady Taira loves entertainment and socializes with the other noble ladies, so we perform for her for the most part." Sharistani paused. "Young Prince Arevan has barely left his mother’s side. I haven't seen much of him, but the other servants gossip that he is somewhat... difficult. I doubt you'll see him at all."

"Thank you. I think I'm now at least a bit prepared."

Sharistani's smile was back for a moment, although it seemed to be pitying this time, and then left him alone again.

 

Master Asnam came to fetch Shanar a few hours later. Shanar had put on the clothes he had been given although he felt very self-conscious. The garments were blue and gold like Sharistani's had been and just as revealing, consisting of trousers made of very gauzy cloth and a tight vest held together by little chains. Just the familiar warm weight of his good luck charm gave him some confidence.There were no shoes. 

Master Asnam seized him up, like he had before, as if appraising an animal on the market. "A barbaric token of some kind? You can keep it," he told him, nodding at the charm. "Lady Taira wishes to see her newest acquisition. Lower your head and answer her questions. And take your lute with you." 

With hot cheeks, Shanar complied.

On their way, he tried to remember all the corridors and halls there were passing, but he got distracted. The suns had set by now, but all the rooms were brightly illuminated by beautifully crafted lamps. Shanar noticed in fascination that tinted glass had been used to create colored lights, something he had only seen in the temple of Adir so far. Glass, even more tinted, was incredibly costly. 

They were also passing other people now, mostly servants, also barefoot - Shanar guessed correctly that this was a more obvious sign of servitude than the small tattoo. They kept their head lowered, concentrating on carrying trays with food, bottles of wine or scrolls of parchment. The other people they met were soldiers of the narif'adir. As the palace's guards, they wore white capes instead of the red ones of the soldiers guarding the Walls of Ghihera. Their contemptuous looks made Shanar wish he was wearing more clothing. 

Finally, they arrived at a kind of parlor. A group of noblewomen were sitting on soft silk cushions, talking to each other.

"Ah, cousin Asnam, come here. Is this my newest exotic bird?" one of the women said and waved for them to step closer. She was around 50 rainy-seasons, thin and tall, with elaborately styled, dark-blonde hair that was slowly graying, and sharp dark eyes very much like Asnams. She and her friends were wearing very different clothing from what Shanar was used to see on women: although their garments also consisted of loose trousers and a blouse, a lot of translucent material had been used. The younger women wore their tight tops so short that their bellies were showing. All of them had gold and jewels in their hair along with colorful flowers, pierced earlobes with more jewelery dangling from it and red paint on their lips. 

"Yes, Milady. This is Shanar. He will sing and play the lute for you," Asnam introduced him and gave him a little shove forward. 

Shanar bowed deeply. "Lady Taira, I'm honored to be in your service."

The women giggled.

"Nice manners!" Taira praised. "And you are a pretty one! He, Sharistani, and Julanar will look perfect together! My own little exotic orchestra! Thank you, Asnam, you can go. - Now, Shanar, sit down and play us a little tune on that lute of yours. A love song, perhaps."

Shanar complied and sat down on the floor to play. He kept it unobtrusive and gentle, and soon, the women didn't play any attention to him any more as they continued their chatter. Just Lady Taira kept shooting him pleased looks here and there.

 

 

Lady Taira's little gathering continued well into the night. Food and drinks were served, and Shanar continued to play. In between, Taira would take a piece of fruit and give it to Shanar in a way she might feed a pet. The young man hid his humiliation well as he graciously took the morsels, murmuring thanks to his mistress.

He would survive this. So far, no one was hurting him. He could endure it.

Finally, the lady declared the evening to be over, and Shanar was dismissed with more praise for his nice music and pretty looks. He was glad to finally get some peace and quiet, but there was now the problem of finding his way back to the servants' quarters. During this late hour, the corridors were all but deserted so couldn't ask anyone for directions. The colored lamps however, turned out to be fairly good way-points, so Shanar was able to track his way back for the most part. But then he was lost at an intersection. Everything was looking the same, and he had no idea where to head. 

"What are you doing here?"

Shanar whirled around as he heard the deep, commanding voice behind him. It was a tall man in the armor of the narif'adir with a stern, handsome face. He seemed around thirty rainy-seasons. His eyes, a brown so alarmingly light it could almost be called yellow, were fixating him under dark-red eyebrows. 

"I'm sorry, Sir. I got lost," Shanar replied and quickly lowered his gaze. 

"I haven't seen you here before. A new pet of my mother's, right?" the man sneered, and Shanar finally recognized him. This was Commander Yahezid. So far, he had only seen him with his gilded helmet on. He clenched his fists.

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly, Yahezid grabbed his chin and made Shanar look up again. "I know you from somewhere. I never forget a face", he murmured, pinning him down under that unnerving gaze. "But I usually don't mingle with mehan'murad filth."

"Yes, we have met, Sir, four rainy-seasons ago," Shanar replied. He knew it was unwise, but he couldn't stop himself. "My father had died during watch at the wall, and you refused to support my family. I came to the guardhouse to plead with you."

"Ah yes, of course. Almahed Rafis, was it? That stupid man was drunk and fell off the wall. He dishonored the narif'adir", Yahezid growled. "Neither he nor his family deserved any pity, even less with a bastard mehan'murad son. What's with the angry look, boy? I suggest you keep quiet and stay out of my way. I may not be so pleasant next time." He roughly shoved Shanar as he strode by. 

Shanar was left alone, shivering with anger. It took him several minutes to calm down and resume his way. On instinct, he took the path Yahezid had not taken, and after a few moments, he recognized the hallway of the servant's quarters.

 

To be continued...


	10. Verse 5 - A golden Cage (Part II)

The next days were an endless, monotonous blur. Shanar got up, ate and clothed himself, went to entertain Lady Taira, went to the baths (which were a wonderful luxury and the highlight of each day) and back to his chambers to sleep. As Sharistani had predicted, Lady Taira's hairdresser wove some light- blue pearls in Shanar's hair that matched the color of his eyes. The jeweler also pierced his earlobes to adorn his ears with dangling trinkets. The price of one of these little ornaments alone would have enabled him to feed his family for a whole season.

He also met Julanar, the other musician, a middle-aged, stern-looking woman with a lithe body betraying a hard life and skin even darker than Sharistani's. She also had a strange blue tattoo on her upper arm the like Shanar had never seen. When he wanted to ask her about it, Julanar just shook her head. 

"She is mute," Sharistani told him. "I think she hasn't spoken a word since Shir'Murad's fall. From what I gathered, she was one of the desert people coming to live in the new city."

"You were there?", Shanar asked her, curiously. "You remember it? I'm sorry if this painful to you, but my mother and grandfather never talked much about it. My father was also one of the desert people. I know nothing of him."

Julanar nodded, smiling sadly. She pointed to the tattoo on her arm, then to Shanar's and Sharistani's bare arms.

"You mean this is some kind of symbol of kinship? Like the tattoo on my hand?" Shanar held it up to her. 

Julanar nodded, then pointed to Shanar and raised her eyebrow as in question.

"Something about me? As I said, there is not much I know. But maybe you knew my father? His name was Gilbadr Jen Mohan. That's all I know of him."

Julanar's eyes grew wide for a moment, but then she shook her head. Pointing to their instruments, she suggested that they started their rehearsal.

Still, Shanar had the distinct feeling that she knew more than she was able to reveal. Had she known his father? Maybe they had been of the same clan or tribe? There was little to nothing anyone knew of the dark-skinned desert people.

 

Working with the two women proved to be effortless. Julanar was a very skilled musician, and Sharistani danced like she had wings instead of legs. They were convinced that Lady Taira would be very pleased. She had ordered them to perform during a banquet the lady hosted the next evening and entertain her guests. Aside from the nobles, all of the Menar family would be present except for Lady Amina would was still too sick.

Shanar was a bit nervous. They had decided of a solid mixture of slow, unobtrusive songs and joyous, well-known melodies, nothing complicated, to keep everyone well entertained. Still, he felt trepidation at meeting Commander Yahezid again. If the man set his mind on making his life miserable, there was nothing he could do about it. 

 

Shanar, Sharistani, and Julanar entered the banquet hall, wearing their fanciest outfits so far - little else but glittering golden nets over loincloths, white lilies woven into their hair. Julanar, untouched by any kind of outward humiliation, looked haughty and grand like a foreign priestess, while Sharistani seemed to embody beauty and sensuality itself. Shanar, next to them, felt downright silly and embarrassed. Almost sensing the stares of the guests on his bare skin, he tried to keep his head down. Being practically naked was surely not how he had imagined performing for the city's leader! 

The trio took its designated place near the main table and started with the first tune, a swift dance. Sharistani's performance was outstanding, earning her thundering applause. 

Shanar, now feeling a bit safer after this first test of skill, let his gaze wander while he continued to play. The hall was beautifully decorated, the tables filled with golden plates overflowing with fruits and meat the likes Shanar had never seen. He had been fed well with warm, fresh bread, fish, and various fruits he knew, but this was different. 

Shanar watched the nobles in their beautiful clothes for a while before he turned his attention to the royal family. Lord Yago was joking with his wife, spilling his wine cup, and urging his brother to clap with the rhythm of the music. The Sovereign shook his head, however, his face lined with worry. Clearly, he was still mourning his son's death, worried about his daughter-in-law's condition and not in the mood for anything light-hearted.

Next to Yahezid, who carefully hid his distaste at seeing a mehan'murad dance, Shanar noticed an exceptionally looking person. It was a young man, a bit older than himself, with a head of blond locks so light they seemed to be made of silver. His bronze face was flawless and ethereal. 

For a moment, Shanar felt a pang of jealousy. If he would look like this, he might have found his way to the table of the nobles without selling himself. But this feeling was instantly gone when he noticed the young man touching Yahezid's hand in a familiar manner and the commander grabbing it, whispering something at him. The young man laughed. It was now clear that he must be Yahezid's consort and therefore a part of the family. Shanar would ask Sharistani about him later.

The festive atmosphere of the evening was suddenly disturbed, however, when the youngest member of the family, Prince Arevan, suddenly jumped up from his seat after brooding over his food since the beginning of the meal.

"No, I don't care! I'm bored! I want to go!" he shouted.

"Sit down and do as you're told," the Sovereign reprimanded him. "You're now my heir and old enough to eat with the adults. If you insist on behaving like an infant, however, I have to call your old nurse to carry you away."

"I'm not an infant!" he boy screamed, his little face almost as red as his hair. "And I'm going back to Mother now! She needs me!"

"Sit down!" the Sovereign ordered with a thundering voice. "Your mother is well cared for. You can't cling to her anymore like you used to. I think we'll start weapons training tomorrow. Yahezid, you will teach him personally from now on."

The commander nodded, face tight. "Yes, Uncle."

Prince Arevan, however, was still not willing to comply. Without another word, he ran out of the hall.

The Sovereign sighed. "I was too lax with him. Yahezid, see to it that he trains twice a week. Taira, my dear, arrange for the boy's quarters to be moved away from his mother's and assign servants to keep an eye on him."

"Don't worry, dear brother. The boy will come to his senses," Taira assured him. "He just needs a firm hand."

The conversation drifted back to other topics. Shanar felt sorry for the boy. Like in the temple, he seemed to be very lonely and confused. His whole world had shifted with his father's death, but instead of helping him build a new one, his family was set on taking away anything that was familiar. 

 

After the performance, Shanar asked Sharistani about the beautiful young man with the silver hair. 

"That's Ghajadin, Commander Yahezid's consort," she confirmed his assumption. "He was taken into the family a few rainy-seasons ago. He is quiet and friendly, but for all the privileges he enjoys, he is still nothing more than Yahezid's personal plaything. I think we're better off than him." She stretched her arms. "I'm going for a swim in the baths. Can you find your way back on your own quarters?" Julanar had gone already.

Shanar nodded. "I think I'm starting to remember the layout of the palace."

 

His way took him through one of the beautiful little courtyards he had come to admire so much. When he crossed it, admiring the pond in the middle with its glittering fish, he suddenly heard a shuffling noise. He looked around and finally spotted a small huddled figure in the shadow of one of the pillars. Carefully, Shanar stepped closer. 

A tousled, fiery head shot up. "Go away!"

"I'm sorry, your Highness." Shanar stepped back, and, unsure how to talk to the boy, instinctively resorted to treating him like a normal child. "I didn't know this was your secret spot. I'm Shanar, by the way. Do you come here often?"

"What do you care? You're just a slave. Go away or I'll call the guards!" Arevan sounded like he was on the edge of hysteria.

Slowly, Shanar sat down on the edge of the pool. This was probably a bad idea, but the urge to help the boy and the loss of his own siblings was dictating his actions.

"You know, these little courtyards remind me of a song," he said lightly. "We haven't played it this evening. Would you like to hear it?"

The boy just stared at him sullenly with a beautiful set of reddish-golden eyes. "You're the one that was playing the lute tonight. I don't care much for Aunt Taira's servants. You look funny. Now go away."

"Tell you what: I sing you this one song, and if you don't like it, I'll go." Without waiting for the boys' answer, he began.

 

Sing, my bird, sitting on a tree

Sing for me of freedom

Sing, my bird, flying through the skies

Wings stretched, feathers bright

 

Sing, my bird, in a golden cage

Sing for me of longing

Sing, my bird, in a golden cage

Clipped wings on your back

 

Sing, my bird, in a golden cage

Sing for me of heartbreak

Sing, my bird, in a golden cage

You will never fly

 

Shanar realized that he had sung the last time when he had said goodbye to his siblings. So far, Lady Taira hadn't asked him to sing at all. It felt good.

As he sang, he noticed a change in Arevan. The grim little face became softer, and at the end of the sad little tune, the child was weeping. Sobs racked the small body. Slowly, Shanar went up and knelt next to Arevan, touching his shoulder. Without warning, the boy flung himself at him, sobbing and screaming.

 

Shanar tried to hold him still, but the boy was surprisingly strong, little hands clutching at the net fabric, nearly ripping it, as he sobbed, delirious with a pain his small body as unable to handle. Shanar held him tighter, and just began to sing again. This time, it was an old lullaby, soft and sweet. Arevan loosened his grip, slowly calming down. Shanar gently stroked the tousled head as the boy fell asleep in his arms. It was like he was back home again, comforting one of his siblings.

 

 

_To be continued..._


	11. Verse 6 - Assignment (Part I)

Master Asnam's stern face was the first thing Shanar saw when he opened his eyes the next morning. He blinked in disorientation and finally realized that he was still in the courtyard, a peacefully sleeping Arevan on his lap. 

"I'm sorry, Sir," he whispered. "I didn't know where his quarters were so I couldn't take him there, and if I had called someone, he might have woken up and cried again."

As he tried to move, Arevan woke up. 

"My Prince, let me take you back to your mother," Asnam said.

"Grandfather said I can't stay with her anymore," the boy replied sullenly. Then he looked up at Shanar. "You come with us."

Even Asnam seemed to be in no position to deny the prince this wish, so Shanar followed the two through another set of yet unfamiliar hallways to Princess Amina's quarters. Hastily smoothing his tousled hair, he stepped into a very dark, stifling room. Arevan ran toward a figure lying on a set of embroidered cushions. It was a young woman in simple clothes, face pale and lined with pain, with blond hair that reminded Shanar of his sister Alia. Her frame was frail, except for the swollen belly indicating a pregnancy in the last stages. This explained a lot.

"Arevan, my dear, who is that?" the princess asked in a faint voice.

"That's one of Aunt Taira's musicians. He sang at the temple. I told you, remember?" Arevan replied, holding her hands. He was now calm and serious. "I want him."

"Asnam, see to it that this young man is assigned to my son. I will talk to Lady Taira," Amina ordered, a bit of strength returning to her. "Since Arevan has to move to his own quarters, he should at least have the servants of his choice. I want him as comfortable as possible. - Arevan, my darling, go with Asnam and tell him everything you want. After breakfast, you'll join cousin Yahezid for weapons training. The bard will keep me company in the meantime."

The boy hesitated for a moment, then he kissed his mother's hands and followed Asnam out of the room.

"Please come closer and sit down," the princess addressed Shanar. "Arevan told me that the sound of your voice made his heart feel much lighter. That was the first time that music made an impression on him. Will you sing for me, as well?"

"As you wish, your Highness," Shanar replied, stepping closer and then sitting down next to her bed. Without thinking, he began.

 

My sweetheart is a hero

Riding out to fight

Storming with his sword raised

Coming home at night

 

My sweetheart is a hero

Loved by young and old

But his heart is all mine

Pure and warm as gold

 

My sweetheart is a hero

Killed by a foes' hand

I mourn his loss until I

Follow where he went

 

Princess Amina stroked her belly, taking deep breaths. A single tear ran down her cheek. "That was beautiful," she whispered. "For a moment... I thought I was seeing my husband again."

Shanar bowed deeply. What had he been thinking, to choose particular song? "I'm sorry if I made you sad, your Highness," He stammered. "That wasn't my intention at all. Forgive me!" 

"No, you comforted me," she replied. "Now I know what Arevan meant. He had not cried a single tear since his father's death until the funeral. It is not good for a child to bottle up all these feelings." She took another deep breath. "Even I could not comfort him."

"I know what it feels like to lose a parent,",Shanar replied. "But he still has you."

"For now..." Amina closed her eyes. "The healer priestesses of Adan and the midwifes are not too sure that I will survive the birth. Although it breaks my heart, the Sovereign is right to take him away from me. Arevan has to grow up much quicker now. He cannot cling to his dying mother any more."

These words tore at Shanar's heart. The inhabitants of this palace might have all the riches in the world, but they were also much poorer than he ever had been. "I'm so sorry, your Highness. If there is anything I can do to help..." 

When the princess opened her eyes again, the veil of pain had cleared away. "Shanar - that was your name, right? Listen to me," she whispered, leaning down to him. "I have no idea why I'm even telling you all this. You are just a servant, made to follow orders. But I have the strong feeling that I can trust you. Arevan is a difficult child, always has been, but my husband and I adored him, and he listened to us. Now, he follows no orders but mine and constantly talks back to his grandfather. I heard what happened last night. You were there, yes? Then I do not have to tell you what this means. Arevan has always been the heir to the throne, but we all thought that he would have to take up this burden in twenty or thirty rainy-seasons when his father stepped down. Now, Arevan will be the next Sovereign the moment his grandfather dies. That day might be in ten rainy-seasons, if the gods are graceful, but it could be the moment he comes of age. Arevan is bright and intelligent and learns quickly. But lessons in swordplay, history, and politics are not all a good leader is made of. As much as I love Arevan, I know he does not care for others beside his family. He does not care for the people of this city. He knows nothing of their daily struggle, of poverty or hunger." 

She smiled at Shanar's surprised face. 

"Although I come from a noble family, my nurse took me to visit our poor neighbors. I learned to value the privileged life I have. But Arevan has never seen the world outside of the palace. If he is to become a good leader, he needs someone teaching him that ruling means putting others before himself. Can you... Can you do that for me?"

"I'm not sure if I'm the right one for this, your Highness, but I do know of poverty, hunger, and caring for others. I... I sold myself to ensure that my siblings can have a future," Shanar replied quietly. "And I will do everything in my power to help the prince overcome his grief and prepare himself for the task that lies ahead."

"Thank you." Amina sank back into the cushions, the brief burst of strength gone. "I do not share Tairas's special fondness for your people, but somehow, I know that I can trust you. Now go. Asnam will take you to Arevan's new quarters later."

 

 

Shanar left her, confused. He had absolutely no idea how this could have happened, but here he was, assigned to serve the little prince. Already his heart had gone out to Arevan who despite his mother's words, was more pitiful than spoiled in Shanar's eyes. The way he had clung to Shanar all night long had felt so painfully familiar, as had been the need to be comforted. Shanar had been caring for his siblings almost his whole life, and he realized now how empty he had felt when he wasn't needed. Taking care for Arevan would surely fill that gap. 

Back in the servant quarters, Shanar took the time to eat something for breakfast, bathe and change his clothes before Asnam fetched him. 

"You are to attend the prince when he needs you, but in between and after he has gone to bed, you will play for Lady Taira as usual," he told Shanar. "Be prepared for a tight schedule. Your record from Master Karum states that you are very educated. Aside from caring for the prince, you will also teach him."

Shanar nodded. "I look forward to it."

Asnam raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

 

_ To be continued... _


	12. Verse 6 - Assignment (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

 

Prince Arevan's new quarters weren't too far from the servant hallways so that Shanar thankfully didn't have a long way. He was to be there from dawn till Arevan's training lessons, then change into one of his costumes and entertain Lady Taira, come back and continue to attend Arevan, then return to Lady Taira to play well into the night. There wasn't much sleep left, but Shanar was used to hard work and didn't mind. He actually looked forward to it. In serving Arevan, he might finally feel truly useful again. Besides, how much work could one little boy actually make?

Shanar realized his mistake when Arevan turned down any other servant that Asnam suggested, so Shanar was left with all the duties of caring for him. The prince's new quarters were huge and luxurious, far too big for one child, and seemed doubly empty without any staff in it. The only other inhabitants were some beautiful yellow and green birds in gilded cages and Arevan's pet anushi. The furry little creature, wearing a golden collar with a bell, joyfully jumped around and then buried itself in a mountain of cushions that Shanar couldn't quite bring himself to call a bed. 

After Asnam was convinced everything was fine, he left them alone. Shanar, unsure how to start, looked around. "Are you sure you don't want any other people in here with you, your Highness?" he asked.

"Yes," Arevan replied. He had been standing a bit forlornly in the center of the room, but now he decided to go after his pet and explore his new realm. "I don't like people."

Shanar went after him. "Then I'm very flattered to be an exception," he answered lightly. "Did you have any breakfast? You should eat something before we start."

"Start with what?" Arevan's head emerged underneath the colorful cushions, before the rest of the little boy followed with the anushi in his arms.

"You lessons, of course. I'll teach you to read and write. As I understand it, you didn't have many lessons so far?"

Arevan made a face. "Grandfather told me about the city's history, but it's boring beside the stories about the wars with the sessera. He said that funny-looking people like you came from the fallen city of Shir'Murad. Did you ever see a sessera, a real sand demon?"

Shanar shook his head. "No. I was still a baby when my family came here. My mother gave birth to me on the way to Al'Menara. And I don't think I want to see a real sand demon. They must be gruesome."

"When I'm grown up, I'll be a great warrior," Arevan announced, face grim. "And then I'm going out into the desert and kill them all to avenge my father!"

"But even warriors must learn other things besides swordplay," Shanar argued. "Ask your uncle, Commander Yahezid."

"I don't like him," Arevan grumbled. "I know that he is a great warrior, but he's always looking down at me. I don't think the fighting lessons with him will be any fun."

"Just wait and see. You said you wanted to be a fighter, didn't you? Then you have to learn from the best."

"Don't lecture me!" Arevan hissed. "You're just a slave! I don't have to listen to anything you say!"

"Of course not, your Highness. But your mother said that I should take care of you for her."

The mention of his mother softened Arevan's grim face a bit, and he clutched his anushi tighter to his chest, making the small animal squeak. When he noticed he hurt it, he let go, putting it on the floor. 

Shanar saw this as a good sign. He decided not to press the boy any further, but wait a bit until he mentioned the subject of lessons again. "I'll get you some breakfast now, your Highness. What do you like to eat?"

 

 

Getting used to his new tasks proved a bit more difficult than Shanar had expected. Lady Taira, not amused that Princess Amina had taken away one of her favorite slaves for her son, made Shanar stay well into the night. Arevan was an early riser, so Shanar had to be up even earlier to serve him breakfast, help him bathe and clothe himself (two things the boy loathed with a passion) and then get him to do some writing and reading lessons. Arevan's attention span was very short, however, and he quickly got bored, so Shanar had to keep it as interesting as possible. After lunch, Arevan took a short nap and then went to his sword lessons with Commander Yahezid or visit his mother, leaving Shanar some time to eat and then get to Lady Taira for her afternoon entertainment. The lady still hadn't let him sing anything, just play the lute. 

In the evenings, he often performed together with Julanar and Sharistani. After the first incident at the dinner table, the Sovereign had refrained from letting Arevan partake in it every time. The young prince had to join the adults once every two weeks, however, and answer questions about his progress. He did so with dignity, albeit with gritted teeth, that had taken a lot of convincing work from Shanar. 

Despite his outbursts, Arevan obeyed Shanar a bit better every day. There truly was hope that the sullen little boy would become a responsible young man one day. There was one thing, however, he insisted on: Shanar had to sing to him each day, usually before sleeping time. Shanar gladly complied, enjoying the way the boy's pretty eyes glimmered with attention at a heroic ballad and then slowly fall shut during a soft lullaby. 

From the little things Arevan mentioned, Shanar gathered that the fighting lessons weren't going too well. As the commander of the narif'adir, Yahezid surely had other things to do than train his nephew, and had little patience with him. Arevan always returned exhausted from his biweekly lessons, often enough with some bruises, feeling frustrated and tired. Shanar kept on his toes in these moments, suggesting scented oils to ease the tense muscles, something sweet to eat, and a song. 

"I talked to Mother, asking her to speak with Grandfather," Arevan told him one day after a particularly nasty afternoon that had left him irritable and on the verge of tears. Shanar had taken half an hour to calm the boy down, kneading his tense shoulders, and was now sitting with the boy's head in his lap, gently stroking his hair. "I don't want to train with Uncle Yahezid anymore."

"What did she say?", Shanar asked quietly.

"She wants to try, but Grandfather has set his mind on it. He said that I have to learn from the best. But I'm not learning at all!"

"Maybe you have to have some more patience. No one was born a great sword master. Everyone started out as you do."

"But Yahezid scolds me all the time! I can't do anything right. And he hits me with the wooden practice sword." Arevan held out his hand for Shanar to inspect. The knuckles were badly bruised. "I feel so clumsy and stupid."

Shanar took his hand and gently kissed the fingers like he had always done when one of his siblings had come home with a bruise. "You just need time."

Arevan looked up to him, obviously struggling with something. "Can you come with me next time... and cheer me on?"

"If you think that it'll help, I come with you. But Commander Yahezid doesn't care for... my people at all. He might forbid it."

"I don't care! There are some huge tapestries on the walls of the fighting area. You just hide behind them," the boy decided.

"Your Highness, if I have to hide, I can't cheer you on," Shanar replied with a laugh, but quickly got serious again. He would not dare and risk Yahezid's anger. "I'll come with you, but only if your uncle allows it."

 

 

When the next lesson came, he accompanied Arevan to the training area located in one of the courtyards. An arcade decorated with tapestries surrounded it, allowing spectators to sit in the shadow and watch.

Yahezid looked up briefly and just continued to do his warming-up, so Shanar decided he was allowed to stay. Arevan bit his lower lip and stepped into the area to warm himself up as well. Shanar sat down underneath the arcade, hoping that his presence would really help the boy and not irritate Yahezid.

He wasn't alone, however. Yahezid's consort Ghajadin was there as well, flanked by servants that served fresh fruits and waved huge fans to cool the air around him. Up close, he was even more beautiful, his silvery curls surrounding his face like a halo. When he noticed Shanar's stare, he smiled.

"Come here," he ordered in a friendly voice. 

Shanar went closer and bowed deeply. "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't meant to be rude."

"I'm used to it," Ghajadin replied with a laugh. "But I suppose you get your fair share of glances as well, especially with your people being popular servants at the moment."

"I'm not... comfortable with that kind of attention, Sir," Shanar murmured. "I prefer to be noticed for my work."

"Yes yes, you're that bard, I remember seeing you play the lute. You're now singing lullabies to our cute little prince, hm? I thought he's too old to have a nanny."

Shanar smiled. "I'm his manservant and tutor."

"And he needs some moral support today, I suppose. The poor little guy isn't much of a fighter, I'm afraid," Ghajadin tilted his head in a pitying way. "Yahezid is an excellent fighter and trains his men personally, so I guess the family's legendary talent for swordplay skips a generation."

"I think that Prince Arevan is still very young," Shanar answered. "And he's been through a lot after his father's death."

"Oh yes, that was a tragedy. I liked Prince Haruf. He was a great man. He and Yahezid were more like brothers than cousins; I can still see them walking side by side." Ghajadin sighed. "Oh, look, they start the practice. Do cheer the boy on, will you? I really feel sorry for him. My Yahezid can be a bit ruthless when it comes to training, but he can't have any unfit swordsmen in the narif'adir."

Ruthless was a mild understatement; Yahezid shouted at the boy to watch his legs and raise his sword arm higher and put more weight into a swing while he relentless decked him with hits that the boy was barely able to block. Shanar had only had the most basic of weapons training from his father, but he clearly saw that this way, it was no wonder that Arevan wasn't making any progress. Seeing the boy like this was breaking his heart and at the same time making him hate Yahezid even more.

"You Highness, don't retreat!" he shouted without thinking. "Put all your weight into the block! And then try a counterattack!"

Both Yahezid and Arevan were startled for a moment, but then the boy's expression turned from desperation to resolve. He leaned forward at the next hit, then ducked and took a strike at Yahezid's leg. The wooden practice sword audibly clashed against the commander's leather boots.

Arevan's triumph didn't last long, however. Yahezid's next blow sent the boy's sword flying. The prince stumbled and fell backwards into the sand. 

Yahezid raised his practice sword as if to strike at the defenseless boy, but held himself back at the last moment. "Take your weapon and get up!" he barked. "The lesson is over for today. One single hit doesn't count. It's the strike that disarms or kills your enemy that's important!"

Arevan nodded, picking himself up and grabbing the practice sword to put it away. His bare arms were badly scratched, Shanar noticed. But the boy's look had changed: The uncertainty in his eyes was gone. He now had a sense of achievement and some hope that one day, he might be able to stand up to his uncle. 

"A lucky shot," Ghajadin whispered to Shanar. "Or maybe Yahezid let him take that blow."

Shanar didn't reply. He was sure that it had been neither. Although he was proud to see Arevan finding new hope, he now felt the commander's hot, angry gaze on him. Yahezid was without a doubt blaming Shanar for interrupting the training with his call and breaking his own concentration. Luckily, Ghajadin was there to distract him with a cool drink, some fruits and gentle chatter, so Shanar quickly followed his little master to take care of the bruises. He just hoped he could avoid Yahezid until he had forgotten about this incident.

 

_ To be continued... _


	13. Verse 7 - Words of Power (Part I)

"You should be more careful," Sharistani scolded him as Shanar told her about the event later in the evening. They had once again performed for Lady Taira and her court and were now returning to their quarters. "Lord Ghajadin is nice, as I said, but he won't stand up to protect you if the Commander has a grudge against you."

"I feared as much," Shanar murmured. "But all I did was cheer Prince Arevan on as he had asked me to. I had no idea I would anger the Commander with it. It was a stupid coincidence."

The young woman regarded him carefully. "Do you really think so? As far as I see it, you have a huge influence on that boy. This could be dangerous one day."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that when Prince Arevan becomes the next Sovereign and you have his ear, it will make people jealous - especially those who seek power," Sharistani clarified. "I've been at court long enough to see all those petty little intrigues. Standing out too much is always a dangerous thing, especially for a slave."

"So how do you manage?" Shanar asked. "You're by far the most beautiful and talented dancer."

The young woman gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, like his sisters used to do. "Thanks. But I'm well protected, don't worry. There's someone... a very special man watching out for me. It was difficult in the beginning, but not anymore."

Shanar blinked. "Really? Who is it?"

"Shush!" Sharistani's fairer skin didn't hide a blush as well as Shanar's own complexion. "A lady needs her secrets. Good night!" 

They had reached the corridor for the male servant's quarters, and Shanar watched Sharistani saunter off. He was happy to hear that she had someone protecting her - and that someone obviously held a special place in her heart. Like Shanar, Sharistani had to work for ten rainy-seasons to pay off her debts, and no doubt had the men in this palace been giving her lots of grief.

Just as Shanar was about to open the door to his room, two hands grabbed him from behind. He tried to struggle, but they closed over his mouth and nose, successfully muffling any cry for help. Blackness descended upon his vision within seconds.

 

 

Shanar woke up to the sound of his own coughing. His head was pounding like he had been standing under the suns without protection all day.

"Not so tough now, are you now?" Commander Yahezid's acidic voice. Shanar blinked, noticing the unfamiliar surroundings. He was lying on the floor in a small room, lit by lamps. Judging by the swords and shields neatly stacked against the walls, it was an armory. The Commander was standing in the door frame, flanked by two of his soldiers. Shanar quickly lowered his gaze.

"Now listen very carefully, you worthless little bug," Yahezid snarled. "I warned you not to cross my path again. But you had to interrupt my training session! No wonder the boy is such a wuss if he's cared for by someone like you! Amina's stupid idea, and my uncle listens to her... He's getting senile." 

Shanar didn't dare to move, just concentrated on breathing and trying to fight the dizziness. If he wanted to get out of here alive, he had to be very, very careful.

"But that's not my problem," Yahezid continued. "You, however, are. I can't throw you out of the palace. I can't even give you a beating without my mother or Arevan noticing and running crying to my uncle because I broke their toy. So what to do with you to teach you a lesson, hm?"

He stepped closer, his unnerving eyes bright and merciless as Adir's sun. "Since I won't stoop so low as to touch filth like you, I decided to leave you in the company of my guards," he declared. "I'm sure you'll have fun. And if you ever dare as much as to breathe in my presence again, you know what to expect next."

With those words, he turned around. "You have to return him tomorrow morning. And leave no visible marks on him," he told his guards, leaving the room. 

Shanar hadn't dared to look up as long as Yahezid was in the room, but now he had to assess his situation while fighting the panic rising in his chest, making it even harder to breathe. The guards, both tall, big men with mean smiles, closed in on him. "He's pretty, although he's one of them," the left one remarked. He had an ugly scar on his cheek. "I don't care for mehan'murad at all, but I'll make an exception this time."

"You missed something," he other said, his face sharp like a deadeater bird's beak. "Did you never get your hands on that dancing girl? A shame Master Asnam claimed her. But this one's a nice replacement."

Sudden, hot anger filled Shanar, overriding his fear. He had started to love Sharistani like one of his own sisters, and the thought of those ruffians touching her was revolting. Suddenly, he didn't care what happened to him as long as he could somehow get back at the soldiers for hurting Sharistani. 

"One step closer, and I'll curse you," he whispered, his voice still a bit raw. 

The men laughed. "Curse us? Are you a witch or something? A mehan'murad witch? That's funny since your folks are all cursed!" Scarface howled. "You lost your stupid little city!"

"I mean it." Shanar slowly rose, fixating the soldiers. He was making this up as he went, somehow beyond all fear now. "You know that I'm a bard. If I sing a special ancient song of the desert people, it will call the noalkra to hunt you down in your sleep. They will crawl up the wall at night and slit your throats."

"Then we'll gag you," Birdbeak decided. "Hold him down. It's a shame not to put that pretty mouth to other good use, but there are other ways..."

Shanar suddenly felt a burning in his throat, like he had swallowed hot coals. The anger was almost too much to bear. " Don't touch me! " he shouted at Scarface who was about to grab his arms.

To everyone's astonishment, the soldier recoiled as if he had been burned.

"What are you waiting for?" his companion snarled. "It's not like he's a poisonous snake or something! He's just a boy!" 

"I don't think this is a good idea," the other murmured. "What if he can really curse us? And if someone finds out..."

"Those are the commander's orders," Birdbeak shot back. "But if you're too much of a coward..."

" You keep off me as well !" Shanar cried as the man stepped closer. " Curse on you both! May the demons hunt you down in your nightmares where no prayer can help you! "

The soldier stopped, exchanging an unsure look with his companion. Slowly, both of them retreated. "Get back to your room, witch!" Birdbeak hissed. "And don't tell anyone about this, or we... we... We'll think of something!"

"Damn it, I'm out of here!" Scarface murmured, opening the door and running out. Birdbeak followed.

Shanar slumped down as the door closed behind the guards. Silently thanking Shariha for protecting him he took some deep breaths to calm himself. His throat still hurt terribly. When he raised his hand to touch his neck, he noticed something strange: his good luck charm was hot! The little piece of metal practically glowed like it had been put into a fire. As he took it off, the pain in his throat slowly ebbed down.

Suddenly, Shanar thought back to all the times he had worn the pendant and opened his mouth and how extraordinary things had happened: the moved crowd at the temple, Arevan's instant attachment, Princess Amina's blind trust, Yahezid's surprise at the training area, and now the soldiers. Had it been the pendant, influencing people as Shanar's grandfather had said? 

No, this was crazy. Shanar once again touched the pendant, which was now cool again. There was no such thing as magic. Those were just coincidences. And the guards... Well, he had been lucky that they were so superstitious.

After making sure his wobbly knees would support him, Shanar left the armory. It was deep into the night, the palace quiet and dark. After some detours, he finally found his way back to the servant's quarters. 

Although he was bone-tired, he couldn't fall asleep until the suns rose. He could only hope that the guards would never tell Yahezid what had really happened for fear of being expelled for not following a direct order and getting intimidated by a little bard's words. But Shanar knew he would avoid Yahezid now at all costs, being invisible to him. Next time, he might not be able to talk himself out of it. 

 

To be continued...


	14. Verse 7 - Words of Power (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

 

"Hey, Shanar! I asked you a question!" Arevan's impatient little voice broke through Shanar's foggy and worried mind the next morning. "How do I get those calculation right? It doesn't make any sense this way."

"I'm sorry, your Highness," Shanar quickly apologized and turned his attention back to Arevan's parchment. "You have to add a four, not a three. See here?"

The young prince scrunched up his nose. "It's still not making sense. Shanar, it's not like you at all to be this distracted. Are you sick?"

"No, I'm fine, just a bit tired. And, well... I miss my family," Shanar said the first thing that came to mind, and it wasn't even a lie. 

"Tell me about them," Arevan demanded to Shanar's surprise. "My mother said that you told her you sold yourself for your family. You were poor, right? I can't imagine that at all."

Shanar nodded. "Yes, we were poor. I have five siblings, three sisters and two brothers, for which I have been taken care of since our parents died. My oldest sister Alia was about to marry when..."

Arevan listened with obvious interest as Shanar told him how he ended up in the palace as a slave. So far, the boy had never asked about anything personal, but Shanar saw it as a good sign. Arevan seemed to be starting to care.

"I know that slaves are usually not allowed to visit their families. But you could write them a letter," Arevan suggested when Shanar had ended. "I'll ask Asnam to deliver it to your sister."

"Thank you." Shanar smiled. "That would be a great consolation. Do you think my sister will be allowed to write back to me?"

"I'll make it an order," the prince declared. "And since I've been this gracious, I don't have to do any more work today!" He stood up and ran off with a grin.

Shanar didn't stop him and just watched him play hide and seek with his pet anushi. His heart felt already lighter at the prospect of hearing from Alia. She must be already married by now. Inside the palace, the change of seasons was less noticeable, but it was already well into Sowing-Time. The weeks had passed so quickly.

 

 

Arevan kept true to his promise. Shanar wrote a long, yet unspecific letter to Alia that was scrutinized by Master Asnam and then accepted, and the next day, he already held an answer in his hands. Arevan, proud of himself for having the idea with the letter in the first place, insisted on Shanar reading it aloud.

 

"My dearest brother, 

I'm so glad to hear that you are doing well. We all miss you terribly, and my greatest sadness is over the fact you weren't there to give my hand to Sehan when we got married a few weeks ago. It was a beautiful ceremony at the temple of Shariha. I wore the dress I've been embroidering for so long, and Sehan smiled at me like I was the only person in the world. Even the twins were quiet until the priestess had finished. Speaking of Akil and Siran, they are a handful as always, but Jeana is taking better care of them. She's gotten a lot more responsible and careful since she broke her arm. She's a great help since I'm with Sehan at the fruits stall all day. We started out very well and have a good business running already.

I recently visited Nimi at the temple; she seems to be very happy there. You should see her in her miniature version of the acolytes' robes. 

My dear Shanar, everything turned out so well for all of us, just as you had hoped. As you wished, I didn't tell the others where you went, but our bright little Nimi figured it out for herself and kept quiet. I pray to all the gods that you can find comfort in this knowledge and that, somehow, we can see each other again soon. 

 

All my love,

Alia"

 

"She seems to miss you a lot," Arevan remarked. "Is it nice to have siblings?"

Shanar nodded, hastily rubbing away a tear. "It's very nice. But soon you will have a little brother or sister, too."

"I know. But they say the baby is going to kill Mother." The prince's little face was a pale mask of fear again. "I don't want it to be born! I want my mother to live!"

"You mother's life is in Shariha's hands," Shanar replied softly. "But the baby is not to blame, not matter what will happen. And it will need a big brother to protect it. Think about how small and helpless it will be."

Arevan sniffled. "Do you think I can do that?"

Shanar tried to smile reassuringly. "Of course you can! You're grown almost a handspan since I've started living at the palace, and remember, you finally scored a hit against Commander Yahezid yesterday!"

"That's right. My birthday is also coming around. I'll be nine rainy-seasons!" Arevan balled his fists, sadness turning to resolve. "I'm going to protect my little sister!"

"So, you want your little sibling to be a girl?" Shanar asked, relieved to see the change.

Arevan shook his head. "No, I know it - somehow."

 

 

"Do you have an idea for a name for your sister?" Princess Amina asked her son the next time he was visiting her a few days later. Shanar had been ordered to come along, feeling much more at ease in his simple servant garments than the last time he had visited her. The Princess, however, looked much more ill and exhausted, although she tried to hide it with a smile.

"Yes, I have! What do you think of Liyel?" Arevan replied. "It's the name of my great-great-grandmother. She ruled Al'Menara for over ten rainy-seasons after her husband had died and her son was still too young. She was very wise and strong, loved by her people. And she built a new temple for Adan, decreeing that the priests there have to care for blind and crippled children."

"That is a wonderful idea. And my, you did learn your history lesson well," Amina replied, smiled at Shanar over the top of Arevan's head, understanding all too well where the idea for the name had come from. "You know, Arevan, names, like all words, have power. If your sister gets a strong name, she will be strong, too. You were named after a hero living hundreds of rainy-seasons ago. Did Shanar tell you that story?"

The boy nodded. "Arevan the Red was great soldier. He commanded an army and rescued a village from sand demons..."

As the boy rattled on, Shanar and Amina once again shared looks of silent understanding. And there was something else in the Princess' dark, pained gaze, Shanar realized - gratefulness.

 

 

Three days later, Shanar was awakened by a hand roughly shaking him in the middle of the night. His first instinct was panic, but then he recognized Asnam's face above him. The usual stern mask betrayed concern.

"Get up," he ordered briskly. "The Prince asks for you. Princess Amina has gone into labor. He's with her."

Shanar nodded, trying to shake off the drowsiness, and got out of his bed. Asnam didn't wait for him. After quickly throwing on his clothes, Shanar left his room with tousled hair and nothing but worry in his heart. 

He found Arevan huddled in a corner of Amina's dark rooms while servant women ran back and forth with bloody linnen in their arms. A cluster of people had formed around the bed, murmuring tensely. In between, Amina was crying out. It was a horrible sound. In the back of the room, three priestesses of Adan in simple yellow robes were softly singing a healing chant.

As soon as the prince recognized Shanar, he dove into his arms. "I can't do anything to help her," he whispered between sobs. "There's so much blood..."

Shanar gently stroked his hair, rocking the boy back and forth. "I know, I know. Let's pray for your mother, your Highness. I have taught you the healing chant of Adan last week, remember? Let's sing it together with the priestesses for her."

The boy sniffled, and, not letting go of Shanar, started to sing with a thin, shaky voice. Shanar joined in softly, carefully lifting the boy up and carrying him over to the priestesses. The women smiled at him, not stopping their monotonous song. Now a a better vantage point, Shanar could see another very young priestess, almost still a girl, standing beside Amina's bed. Although her yellow robe was simple, he recognized her immediately - it was Nuriven, the High Priestess of Adan's temple in Al'Menara. She was rumored to have the god's own insight into the causes of illness. Her gentle face was drawn and serious as she carefully touched Amina's belly and whispered something to the midwives. The princess, face pale and wet with sweat and tears, cried out again, almost tearing the embroidered cushions as she clawed at them. 

Still holding Arevan tightly in his arms, Shanar put all his heart into the simple chant consisting only of a few words, praying like he had been praying right before his own mother's death. Her passing had been the most painful due to the horrible illness eating away at her strength. Shanar's father had been dead the second he had hit the ground after falling off the wall, and his grandfather had died peacefully in his sleep. They hadn't suffered like this.

 

The light of life

May shine upon you

Look up to Adan's face

And see all things become whole

See all things get well

See all things prosper

 

 

With Arevan's arms around his neck and hot, wet little face against his chest, Shanar didn't notice that his pendant was once again growing hot against his skin. 

 

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, a bit of information for you:
> 
> 1) For those of you wondering, "When the heck is a romance going to start in this story?", please be patient until chapter 10. You'll see why!  
> 2) IThis story is on holiday hiatus now. The next update will be on January 5th 2017. I wish you all a merry Christmas/Chanukka/Yuletide and a happy new year! Be well! ^_^


	15. Verse 8 - Fever (Part I)

 

Shanar had no idea how often he had repeated the healing chant together with the priestesses and Arevan. Priestess Nuriven was still conferring with the midwives while Amina's weakened body was racked by contractions. They seemed to come much quicker now, indicating that the birth was imminent. A pool of fresh blood had gathered under Amina, soaking through the cushions. Her cries had become weaker.

Priestess Nuriven was now giving more orders to the midwives as she pulled a sharp little knife from a sheath at her hip. The women held Amina down as the priestess, murmuring soothing words, started to cut into her belly.

Shanar held Arevan tighter on instinct as Amina cried out again, glad that the boy didn't have to see this. He knew that sometimes there was no other way to deliver a baby, but it was a death sentence for nine out of ten mothers. Nuriven must have given up all hope on saving Amina and was now concentrating on saving the baby.

Seconds later, she lifted up a red little bundle. Ordering the midwives to press the wound shut, she gently shook the baby and wiped its mouth and nose with a clean cloth. It didn't move, however, and there was no energetic cry that usually accompanied the arrival of a newborn.

Shanar felt his heart skip a bit. No, not the baby! Although his throat began to hurt, he continued to sing. Come on, breathe!

It was a kind of rattling noise at first, but then it was there: a cry. The baby began to move, waving its arms and legs, filling its little lungs with precious air. Nuriven smiled relieved, and for a brief moment, her eyes seemed to rest on Shanar as she handed the child to one of the midwives before she turned back to Amina. The bleeding had stopped, a bad sign.

"You have a daughter, your Highness," she said. "A beautiful little girl."

Amina, now pale as death, managed a weak smile. "My little Liyel. Arevan... where is he?"

Shanar gently put the boy down and pushed him toward his mother. Arevan sank down on his knees next to her bed, clutching her hand and crying. "Mother..."

"I'm so proud of you, Arevan," Amina whispered. "Become a strong, good, and wise man and protect your sister, will you? I love you both so much..."

Then her gaze fell on Shanar. "Take care of Arevan for me, please. Promise never to leave his side... ever..."

Shanar took a deep breath. "I promise, your Highness."

With a last, faint smile, Princess Amina passed on into Shariha's realm of stars.

 

 

The funeral preparations started almost immediately. Shanar took Arevan back to his rooms and tried to comfort him the best he could, wondering at the same time at the odd absence of the other family members. The Sovereign must have already heard the news, and Lady Taira held a certain fondness for Arevan, so he had expected them to show up at some point. But nothing happened. In the early hours of the morning, Arevan finally fell asleep while Shanar kept watch.

As the suns' light fell through the colored glass windows, it was Master Asnam of all people who came. He spoke softly as not to wake the boy. "The Sovereign ordered a day of mourning. Princess Amina's funeral will be held at the temple of Adan in three days. There will be no public ceremony like there has been with Prince Haruf."

Shanar nodded. "And Princess Liyel?"

"She is well. Priestess Nuriven is still here, making sure she is healthy. There will be an official naming ceremony at the temple of Shariha in two weeks." Asnam was silent for a moment. "Lady Taira also gave you leave of your entertaining duties until further notice. You have to stay with Arevan at all times. And you are expected to sing at both ceremonies. It was one of Princess Amina's last wishes."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for telling me."

Asnam turned to leave, but then he stopped, eying Shanar sharply. "You know that your responsibilities have become even greater now. Don't disappoint me."

Shanar shook his head. "I won't, Master Asnam. I swore to the Princess that I'll take care of her son, and I'll keep my word."

"The Princess put a lot of trust in you. I don't know why, but she must have had her reasons," Asnam replied. "I guess she saw something in you that others don't. Remember that you still have to prove yourself to me." 

With those words, he left.

Shanar made sure that Arevan was still asleep before he slowly got up and pulled the curtains shut. The next days were going to be rough, so he hoped that the boy would continue to sleep a bit longer.

He thought of the conversation that had just taken place. Asnam was not his enemy, but he had to work hard to earn some real trust. In the short time he had been staying at the palace, Shanar had learned that Asnam held a lot of power. It wasn't the obvious kind of power, but his council was heeded and the whole household snapped to attention at his words. This was the kind of influence Sharistani had been talking about. 

Shanar looked down at Arevan. His face was still swollen from crying, and he looked vulnerable and small. In ten rainy-seasons, when Shanar's contract ended, the prince would be a grown man. Until then, he would keep that promise and take care of Arevan the best he could. 

 

 

The great hall of the temple of Shariha was crowded with people. Not only the noble families, but people from all over the city had come to attend the naming ceremony for the little princess. It was strange for Shanar to be out of the palace so soon again for the second time after being kept inside the palace for weeks before. He was wearing simple, dark blue garments like everyone else present as it was custom for naming ceremonies for girls at the temple of Shariha, and shoes. No one could recognize him as a slave; just his dark skin and hair made him stand out from the rest of the ruling family.

Shanar stood behind Arevan, shielding him from the stares. The boy was holding up remarkably well; even at the mourning ceremony for his mother, he had been quiet and dignified, only shedding some silent tears during Shanar's mourning chant. Now he was pale and shivering a bit, but held his little sister with a firm yet gentle grip. It was custom for an older sibling to bring the newborn to the altar, and Shanar vividly remembered the times he had done it for his own siblings.

Liyel was awake, staring up at her brother with a beautiful set of dark golden eyes the same shade as sand dunes by dawn. She was a quiet, easy baby, and there was clearly a special bond between her and Arevan already. The boy had been hopelessly enchanted by his little sister the first moment he had seen her, so Shanar wasn't worried anymore that he might resent her after his mother's death. Arevan was going to be the best big brother ever.

The high priestess spoke the traditional words, addressing the Sovereign as head of the family. He stepped forward, officially claiming the little girl as his granddaughter and part of the family. After this, Arevan was to carry the baby to receive the goddess' blessing. 

Shanar gave him an encouraging little shove, and the boy made his way up to the priestess. She took Liyel from him and put her on the altar. Directly behind it stood the huge, beautiful statue of Shariha, made of glimmering, dark blue stone. She was depicted as a young woman with flowing hair and robes, carrying a star in her hand.

At the high priestess' sign, the musicians started their song to accompany the dancing priestesses. To Shanar's delight, one of them was his little sister Nimi. She was one of the youngest among the group of young dancers, whirling around in a blue dress embroidered with golden stars. She flashed him a brief smile as she spotted him, and he smiled back. He knew that there would be no time to talk to her, but it was wonderful to see her so happy and well. 

After the dance had ended, it was Shanar's time to sing the traditional naming ceremony chant. He knelt down in front of the altar, looking up at the smiling, eternal face of his goddess. Shanar had always loved the statue.

 

Welcome, child, into this world

Welcome to our people

Parents, siblings, all your folk

Welcome you as equal

 

Welcome, child, into this world

We wish you health and beauty

We wish you patience, wisdom, love

And strength to do your duty

 

Welcome, child, into this world

The goddess smiles upon you

From your first breath to your last

Her guidance keeps you true

 

It was one of the most beautiful songs he knew, feeling the same love he had felt when he had sung it for his sisters. When he had finished, the hall was filled with happy quietness. Even the stern high priestess was smiling as she took the baby and gave her back to Arevan. As Shanar took his place behind the prince again, Liyel's pretty golden eyes were fixating on him. Then she smiled.

 

_ To be continued... _


	16. Verse 8 - Fever (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I have no time tomorrow, update is a day early!

Arevan was unusually quiet for the rest of the day. He had been freed from his lessons since his mother's death, but Shanar hoped to get back on track soon. For the moment, however, he left the prince to his own devices. But Arevan didn't venture out to one of the courtyards or play with his pet anushi. He just sat there, staring out of the window. 

"I'm alone now," he suddenly stated. "There's no one left who cares for me."

"Your Highness, that's not true," Shanar argued. "Your family loves you!"

"No, they don't. All Grandfather cares for is that I'm obedient and learning well. Uncle Yahezid is more strict than ever while training me, although I'm finally starting to learn. Aunt Taira and Uncle Yago smile and pet my head, and that's it. And Liyel is still too small to know that I'm her brother."

"She knows it, I'm sure of it," Shanar replied. He stepped closer and gently turned the boy around. "And your grandfather loves you very much, although he can't show it. You aren't the only one who lost someone. He lost his son and daughter-in-law. I don't think there's anything more terrible than losing one's own child. But he has to stay strong to serve his people."

Arevan looked up at him, eyes teary. "I don't know... what to think anymore. And what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mother... she made you swear to take care of me. But you're a slave. You have to do what you're told either way. If I order you to love me..."

"Your Highness, please listen to me." Shanar knelt down to be on the same eye level with the boy. "No one can order anyone to feel love or hate. People can pretend to feel those things, but it will never be real. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I do love you as if you were my own little brother. And I will honor your mother's request and take care of you as long as you need me."

"I believe you." The prince managed a weak smile, then he pulled Shanar into a surprisingly strong embrace. "Now sing my favorite songs, will you?"

"I can't if you're crushing my neck like this, your Highness," Shanar replied with a relieved laugh. 

 

 

As the seasons changed again, things had turned back to some kind of normalcy. Arevan celebrated his ninth birthday, continued with his lessons, improved in history and calculus, and returned bruised as ever from his sword training. But as he had said himself, he was making progress. Ever since that day he had scored a first hit, he was confident to become a good swordsman one day and endured Yahezid's harsh methods without any more complaints. Shanar saw all of this as a good sign. 

And there was of course Liyel. The wet nurse taking care of her, a young, free servant woman named Mayada with a little daughter of her own, brought the baby as often as possible to Arevan's quarters so that he could spend time with her. She had also found out that Shanar's songs quietened the baby down during the rare times she was crying, so it was a good arrangement for all of them. 

Shanar was also allowed to continue his correspondence with Alia. This way, he learned that she was pregnant with her first child and hoped for a boy she could name after her beloved older brother. Although he was so happy for her, he knew that he would meet his future nephew not until he was already nine rainy-seasons old. Alia would have more children by then, and Nimi, Jeana, and the boys would be adults. So much time lost... But there was nothing he could do except find consolation in knowing that his family was doing well and he was fulfilling an important duty by caring for Arevan.

Thankfully, Shanar was able to stay completely out of Yahezid's way so there was no further trouble. Passing soldiers in the hallways, however, was always an uneasy thing - Shanar could feel their stares in his back. But all of them kept their distance, suggesting that the two soldiers had been frightened enough of the "curse" to advise their comrades to stay clear of Shanar. This kind of superstitious fear was like a shield surrounding him, making Shanar feel a strange sort of power that was at the same time bone-chilling. 

 

The relative peace was disturbed, however, when Draught-Time began. The high, cool rooms of the palace kept the heat out for the most part, but Draught-Time was also the time of sand storms. Although the city was protected by high walls, dust crept into every corner as hot winds were rushing though the streets. Not even the palace courtyards were safe from it, and Shanar felt the need to bathe every time he had to cross one of them. Everyone was either lethargic or irritable which made teaching Arevan difficult again.The boy was unable to concentrate properly and complained about everything. At least the training sessions had come to a stop until the weather would be bearable again.

But just as the first cool winds gusted through the windows, Arevan suddenly fell ill. 

"Master Asnam, you have to fetch a healer!" Shanar had called for the stern master of the household as soon as he had noticed that Arevan was feverish. This had pulled him back immediately to the moment when his mother had taken ill.

"I'll send for Priestess Nuriven herself," Asnam replied grimly. He had taken one look at Arevan's red face and glassy eyes to know that it was serious. "You keep his head cool and get him to drink as much water as possible. Draught-fever is not a matter taken lightly." 

Shanar nodded gratefully.

True to his word, Asnam returned with the young priestess soon. Although it had felt like an eternity, Shanar knew that they had hurried up. In the meantime, he had dabbed Arevan's sweaty face with a wet cloth and tried to get him to drink some more water, but the boy had fallen into a state of delirium. 

Nuriven knelt down beside the bed and put her hand on Arevan's forehead. "Get more fresh water," she ordered Shanar. "Master Asnam, see to it that we are not disturbed. The boys needs rest. And keep his family and other servants away. You know that draught-fever is infectious."

Asnam nodded and left. When Shanar returned with fresh water, he said, "Thank you for coming so quickly, High Priestess. I was so worried about the prince. Can you help him? I... I lost my mother to the draught-fever."

"I will do everything I can," the priestess replied. "He is a strong young boy, and you sent for me before it could get worse. When did he fell ill?"

"This morning," Shanar told her. "He woke up and didn't fell well; the fever rose quickly. I've never seen draught-fever spread so quickly. And he didn't have contact with anyone who might have infected him."

Nuriven nodded. "This is strange indeed. I wonder..." She didn't continue, but pulled out a strange crystal from her pocket. It was round, flat and polished, set into a metal frame that looked familiar to Shanar. The design, he realized, was the same like his pendant. The priestess held the crystal in front of her left eye and looked through it at the boy, then frowned.

"This is no draught-fever," she murmured, her sharp eyes boring into Shanar. "Now listen carefully. I think that the prince has been poisoned. "

"Poisoned? How can you tell? And why would anyone poison a child?" Shanar gasped. 

"One thing after another," Nuriven held out her hand to silence him. "The crystal helped me identify the poison. We'll talk later about this - and about a certain object you call your own. But Prince Arevan is more important at the moment. I don't know why or by whom he was poisoned. You have to find that out yourself later. What I need now is an antidote. Go and get some greenroot, thistleberries, rhoada-flowers and water lilies. And get a mortar. Now go!"

Shanar got up and ran out of the room to get the plants. Greenroot and thistleberries were rare and exotic herbs found at the kitchen, while rhoada-flowers and water lilies grew outside in the courtyards and ponds. Thanks to the constant watering of the courtyards, they were blooming all rainy-season around. 

When he got back with the ingredients, Nuriven pulverized them and mixed them with water. Together, they fed Arevan the antidote. 

"Now we have to wait and give him more when he wakes up," she said. "He is a strong boy. I think he will make it."

Shanar gently stroked Arevan's wet hair from his face. "I'm going to find out who did this," he whispered. "Please, tell me of this poison."

"It was mixed into his food," Nuriven answered. "You have to investigate among the kitchen staff. This was no accident. This particular poison is extracted from a rare plant called shamor-leaf that couldn't have been used by accident. Someone wanted this to look like draught-fever. Someone inside this palace wanted to murder the prince and make it look like a common illness."

 

 

_To be continued..._


	17. Verse 9 - The Pendant's Secret (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

 

"Someone inside this palace? But I don't understand. Who could hold a grudge against an innocent child?" Shanar was so worried and confused that he wasn't able to make any sense of it.

Nuriven shook her head. "No one is holding a grudge. Arevan is far too young to have made any enemies. Someone wanted the Sovereign's rightful heir out of the way. That is the only logical answer."

Shanar sighed. "I'm sorry, Priestess, but this is not making any sense to me. Nevertheless, I'm going to find out who wants to harm the prince. If those people realize he survived, they will surely try again. I have to protect him."

She smiled sadly. "I'm sure you will. But you have to be careful whom you trust." She hesitated. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to save his mother's life, but my powers are limited. Even with that..." She pulled out the crystal again. 

"What exactly is it?" Shanar asked. His mind was still reeling, but he wanted some answers.

"What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room," she replied solemnly. "I'm only telling you this because you are also a bearer of one of Adan's holy artifacts. You have something similar to my crystal on your person, am I right?"

Slowly, Shanar pulled out the pendant and showed it to her. "The design is similar - I never thought there were more like these. It's an old family heirloom. An... artifact of Adan, you say?"

Nuriven nodded. "I didn't know that there was a third one existing. The main temple of Adan at Al'Hidris guards a wristband that is able to heal open wounds. My crystal enables me to look inside a person's body to see the illness or wound clearly. And your pendant influences a person's soul, doesn't it? I felt its power when you sang. It feels the same when I use the crystal."

"I... I don't know. There were many occasions when strange things happened." Shanar turned the pendant in his hands, looking at the foreign symbols, while he told Nuriven of the recent events. "And then I thought it grew hot," he ended his tale. "But those could be coincidences. There is no such thing as magic items!"

"Holy items," Nuriven corrected him. "They carry the god's own power. There are only a few people chosen to use them, descending from special bloodlines. There are legends that once, Adan walked on Badal'Shari disguised as a mortal and fell in love with a woman. Their children carried the blood of the god, enabling them and their descendants to use the artifacts. For many rainy-seasons, my family served as priests and priestesses at Adan's temple and carried the crystal. My younger brother traveled to Al'Hidris to learn more about the wristband, but there hadn't been anyone to use it for decades. He was able to, however, and now serves as High Priest as the main temple, although he is barely of age. And you must be descended from that special bloodline as well."

"The pendant has been in my family for a long time as well. My grandfather told me stories about how our forbears were able to influence people with it, but I thought it to be a bedtime story," Shanar murmured. "Do you really think it has something to do with our blood?"

Nuriven held out the crystal to him. "Look through it and tell me what you see."

Carefully, Shanar took the artifact and held it in front of his eye. Then he looked at Arevan - and gasped in shock. The boy was bathed in a strange light. Red lights flooded through his body, and spots of blue flickered on his chest right above his heart. A greenish light, slower and somehow sickly to look at, was spreading from his stomach, mixing with the red streams. 

"Do you believe me now?" Nuriven asked gently, taking the crystal back. It had grown warm, glowing faintly.

Shanar nodded, bewildered. This was no dream, and he wasn't going crazy.

"Are you going to take my pendant away?" he finally asked.

Nuriven laughed, shaking her head. "It was given to your family for a reason. But you have to be careful. That pendant's power could be used to harm people. What would happen if you sing a song of death and destruction? My crystal just makes the invisible visible, but your pendant has much greater power. You might even be able to enslave a person's soul with it."

"I would never do such a thing!" Shanar protested. 

"I believe that you are a good person. But you have to guard it well. Never take it off. There might be other people out there able to use the artifacts that could harbor ill intentions."

"Has anyone tried to misuse the other artifacts in the past?" Shanar asked her.

Nuriven nodded. "My brother wrote to me about stories that the wristband can be used to cause fatal wounds, not heal them, if the bearer's will was strong and his feelings dark enough. I can't imagine my crystal being used to harm anyone, but a person could chose not to use the knowledge it gives and let a patient die although one knew the reason for the illness. Every kind of power can be misused."

"I understand. And I promise to guard the pendant and never tell anyone about it. But I've sung in public a lot. Could a person with this special bloodline know that my songs were more than just songs?" This very thought was still confusing.

"I don't know; maybe if someone was looking for it," Nuriven replied. "But you said that not only your songs were laced with the pendant's power? That you scared armed men away just by shouting at them?"

"Yes." Shanar took a deep breath. He hadn't told her in detail what had happened with the soldiers. "I was afraid for myself and angry at them for hurting a friend. I... cursed them, and they were so superstitious that it made them leave. And I broke a man's concentration with a shout because I couldn't see a child hurt. But that... that was not healing and soothing. I was attacking those men with my power. What if I already misused it?"

"You didn't do it out of malice or hatred. You wanted to protect yourself and others," the priestess reminded him. "The artifacts are affected by strong feelings as well as the bearer's will. But now you know what I meant by abusing power, Shanar. Always remember that."

Shanar nodded, putting the pendant back under the hem of his shirt. "I won't forget it. Thank you."

 

 

Shanar mulled over Nuriven's words for the rest of the day. Arevan's breathing grew stronger, and his fever broke in the afternoon. Shanar was able to get some tea and soup into him as the boy woke up, as well as more of the antidote. The worst was over - for now. But there still was the question of who might want to hurt the boy. Shanar thought of a plan to investigate among the kitchen staff and find out who had brought the poison to the palace.

And then there was his pendant, of course. Shanar was still feeling like this was some kind of a dream when he thought about the things Nuriven had told him. But her crystal's power had been real, and his own strange experiences made perfect sense now. Still, it was barely believable. But even more than the truth about his pendant was the thought of misusing its power somehow. Aside from scaring those soldiers and confusing Yahezid, what if his songs somehow hurt Arevan unintentionally? Was soothing his troubled heart and restless little soul truly the right thing to do?

Shanar had no answer at the moment. Before, he might have sung to the boy to comfort him. Now, he stayed silent.

 

 

Asnam came by in the evening to see how things were. "The Sovereign was worried, but I told him not to send anyone over for fear of infection."

"I grew immune by caring for my sick mother," Shanar replied. "Thank you for fetching the priestess so quickly. She saved his life."

Asnam's stern face softened for a second as he looked down at the sleeping boy. "I lost someone to the draught-fever as well," he finally said. "My wife."

Shanar looked up in surprise at this private information. So far, Asnam had never spoken of himself. "I'm very sorry," he whispered. "Children survive it for the most part, but adults... My mother died as well."

Asnam nodded. "It was a good thing you made me send for the priestess this quickly. From now on, I might trust you, Shanar. Most slaves coming to the palace only think of passing their time as comfortable as possible or strive to gain some influence with the nobles. Looking at you, I would have thought you threw yourself at the next influential woman or man you saw. I even expected you to make eyes at Lady Taira to gain her favor."

"I really wasn't..."

"I know you didn't. As I said, you're starting to earn my respect." With a last, almost gentle look at the prince, Asnam left the room. 

Shanar looked after him. He had debated whether to tell Asnam of the poison, but he wasn't sure whom he could trust. Although his heart told him that Asnam would be his most valuable ally in the palace, the man had to earn his trust first as well.

 

 

_To be continued..._


	18. Verse 9 - The Pendant's Secret (Part II)

Arevan was weak and sleepy for a few more days, but finally got his usual energy back. Rain-Time was flooding the courtyards, the rain a constant curtain of translucent drops outside the windows and doors. Since playing outside was out of the question, Arevan quickly grew restless, and Shanar thought it best to get back to his usual lessons. This way, the boy was occupied for at least a short time. His interest in history was getting stronger ever since Shanar had gotten him to read about his namesake, the great warrior Arevan, and his great-great-grandmother Lady Liyel. Stories about great battles and noble deeds grabbed the boy's attention for the most part, but it was a good way to get him interested in politics as well. As long as Arevan was out to become as famous a hero as his predecessors had been, it was a good thing. The stories about less heroic characters of the past would come much later.

As soon as Arevan was doing better, Lady Taira ordered Shanar back to entertain her. He was to come to her parlor the next day, so this was the last chance to get a good look at the kitchen. The cooks and kitchen maids looked up in surprise as he entered.

"Do you need some remedial herbs again?" an older woman with a commanding air around her asked him. By the looks of her, she was head cook. Shanar vaguely remembered that he had helped him last time he had been here to fetch the ingredients for the antidote. 

"Yes," he replied, deciding to attack the matter head-on. "I'm looking for shamor-leaf. Do you have it here?"

"Never heard of it," the woman replied, wiping her hands on her apron. "How does it look?"

"Small, bluish leaves with a bitter smell," Shanar replied, remembering what Nuriven had told her of the poison. 

The head cook looked at her staff. "Does anyone know of those leaves?"

Shanar studied their faces, but there was only confusion and ignorance. "Is all of your staff present today?" he asked. "I could come back later if anyone is out today."

"This is all of my staff," the head cook replied. "Except for Sadi. That stupid girl quit a few days ago. She was one of my kitchen maids. You might have seen her a few times. She's the one responsible for taking Prince Arevan's food to his quarters."

Shanar felt the hair at the back of his head rise as he remembered an unremarkable, shy young woman giving him trays of food at the door. "She quit just like that? Where does she live?"

"In the south quarter, with her family. Her father is dead, and she has to take care of a sick mother and two little siblings. I took her in out of pity a rainy-season ago, but she proved to be a good worker. I'm truly disappointed in her. I thought she liked the work here. But she said her mother was getting better now, and nobody marries a kitchen maid. I guess some stupid boy turned her head the wrong way," she scoffed.

"It seems so. Thank you, Mistress," Shanar replied. "And one more thing - the prince complained about his food being cold these last days."

The head cook's face darkened before she turned to a nearby young man and gave his a sharp slap on the cheek. "You and your dawdling! Flirting with the chamber maids on your way again, have you? - Don't worry, Master Shanar. I'll bring the food myself in the future."

 

 

There was no way for Shanar to get out of the palace to find Sadi, but he was sure that the girl had been somehow coerced or bribed to mix the poison with Arevan's food. Since her family situation was as bad as Shanar's had been, he could very well imagine her being amenable to promises of money. The girl might not even have known that the shamor-leaf had been a deadly poison. 

In his next letter to Alia, Shanar mentioned Sadi as an acquaintance he missed and asked her to inquire after her fate: Alia's and Sehan's fruit stall was in the south quarter. 

Alia's answer came a few days later.

 

Of course I inquired after this girl Sadi as you requested. As luck would have it, her neighbor is a regular at our stall. He told me that Sadi's mother has been sick for a long time; one of those rare sicknesses only very expensive remedies can cure. According to her neighbor, Sadi inherited money and a house from a distant relative living in Al'Hidris. In fact, her mother got well so quickly that the whole family could afford to leave the city and join a caravan to Al'Hidris. It's strange, however, that she didn't tell you about this if you were a friend? Tell me, dear brother, did she toy with your heart? I hope not! You deserve a lot better than that!

 

The last line almost made him smile, but the information about Sadi was less funny. Now he had no chance of ever getting to talk to her. Whoever hired her to poison Arevan had invested a lot of money and resources in getting her and her family out of the city and out of reach. Shanar decided that this person must be a noble at court. There was no other explanation. He also remember what Nuriven had said: that someone wanted the Sovereign's heir out of the way. This meant that Arevan was in the way of someone else aiming for the throne.

And there was another candidate left to be the Sovereign's successor: Yahezid. 

Shanar felt a cold shudder run down his spine. He could think of no worse enemy. And he had no idea how he could protect Arevan from him. One wrong strike with the practice blade, made to look like an accident... a fall down some stairs... another bribed servant putting a poisonous animal in the room... There were a hundred opportunities to kill a little boy. 

No, Shanar decided, he couldn't protect Arevan on his own. He had to take someone into his confidence. 

 

 

"Sharistani, can I talk to you for a moment?" Shanar asked after they had played for Lady Taira again the next evening. "It's very important."

"Of course! You looked so worried all day. I heard that Prince Arevan was sick, but is feeling better now. Are you still concerned about him?" she asked.

Shanar nodded. "Come on, let's sit outside. The rain has finally stopped."

They sat down in one of the little courtyards. The air was humid, but cool; droplets of water fell down from the trees' leaves, making soft splashing noises. Somewhere, a caged bird was singing.

Sharistani took his hand, frowning. "What is it, Shanar?"

Shanar took a deep breath. "The prince didn't have draught-fever. He was poisoned." Softly, he recounted what he had found out so far while Sharistani was listening with wide eyes.

"I want to talk to Master Asnam about this," he finished. "I think he can help me. But can I trust him? You know him far better than I do. What should I do?"

"You can trust him,"Sharistani replied. "He is a good man and loyal to the Sovereign's family. I think he can tell you what to do. But Shanar, do you really think that Commander Yahezid has something to do with it?"

"He's the only one benefiting if Arevan dies. But of course I can't prove it..."

"And no one will believe a slave," Sharistani finished for him. "You would only get into more trouble. Go talk to Asnam."

"He's the one protecting you, right?" Shanar asked suddenly. "I heard something like that."

The young woman blushed. "Yes, he is. I had a lot of... unwanted attention when I began to work at the palace. One day, he came to me and asked me to become his mistress. He would see to it that no one else would touch me again. I didn't hesitate for a second."

"Is he treating you well?" Shanar asked. 

"He is. That is...he actually never asked for anything. I guess he just felt sorry for me," she whispered.

"But you want him to ask for more, don't you?" Shanar grinned as Sharistani blushed again. "You really like him!"

"Shush! Yes, I do," Sharistani sighed. "I fell in love with him. He's acting so stern and cold all the time, but there is a gentle and caring side to him that he rarely shows. But he never got over the death of his wife. She died four rainy-seasons ago."

Shanar put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I doubt that he'll resist your charm forever. But I'm very happy to know that you have someone protecting you that you care so much about. And if you trust him, I'm going to trust him as well."

 

_To be continued..._


	19. Verse 10 - Swords (Part I)

Shanar caught Asnam the next early afternoon before he had to join Lady Taira's circle again, and they sat down in one of the courtyards. Outside, Shanar felt safer somehow and in less danger to be overheard. The man listened with a frown and didn't say anything until Shanar was finished. Then he asked the one question that mattered: "Can you prove any of this?"

"Priestess Nuriven will confirm that Prince Arevan was poisoned with shamor-leaf," Shanar replied. "But unless we get Sadi to confess..."

"We won't find her. This sounds like an elaborate plot. If she told even her neighbor that she went to Al'Hidris, chances are she went anywhere but there. We need more than that, and we don't have anything at the moment." Asnam's sharp gaze seemed to pierce right through Shanar. "Furthermore, we can't tell anyone else. If the person behind this finds out we know it was poison, he will draw back. But if not, he will try again, and we have a chance to catch him or get some real proof sooner or later. Then we can go to the Sovereign and accuse him."

"This means using Arevan as bait!" Shanar shot back. "With all due respect, Master Asnam, but I think it's too risky."

"It's risky either way as long as there is a unknown person out there for the prince's blood," Asnam replied grimly. "But maybe he will give up altogether if he sees that Arevan is far better protected."

"So you don't think that Commander Yahezid could be behind this?" Shanar asked.

"I think it's very unlikely. The Commander might be a hard man, but I've never seen him use any kind of underhanded methods."

Shanar hesitated before he spoke again. "But I did. Master Asnam, I know it's not my place to accuse a member of the ruling family, but Commander Yahezid... He threatened me. I was in his way, and he left me alone in a room with two of his soldiers."

Asnam's face darkened. "Are you telling the truth, Shanar?"

"I do. But I wasn't hurt. The soldiers were a superstitious lot, afraid that I curse them with my 'mehan'murad magic'. I somehow managed to talk myself out of this. But that man did it because I interrupted his training session with the prince, and he told me himself that this was a nice method of punishing me without leaving visible marks. This is the kind of character Commander Yahezid is, Master Asnam. A man capable of sending his men to rape another person that annoyed him is very well able to poison a child."

"This seems to be an extreme measure, even for him." Asnam's sharp eyes bore into Shanar's. "You must have angered him quite a bit." 

"Well, I met Commander Yahezid a few rainy-seasons back," Shanar explained, telling Asnam of his father's death. "I already brushed him the wrong way; on top of it, he hates my kind."

"And you hate him, but I can understand that. Nevertheless, you cannot allow your feelings to cloud your judgment," Asnam warned. "We have to keep a cool head here."

"Yes, I know. But I'm still worried that the Commander might hurt Arevan during the training sessions. Couldn't we at least get him another teacher?"

Asnam nodded. "I think that can be arranged. Commander Yahezid has other things to do than train his nephew, and he complains about it all the time. I'll try to get an idea into Taira's head," he decided. "And I'll see to it that you get more privileges to protect the Prince more effectively. You've earned it."

Shanar sighed. "But how can I protect him properly when I spend half the day at Lady Taira's?"

"You can leave that to me as well," Asnam promised.

 

 

True to his word, Asnam convinced the Sovereign via Lady Taira that Commander Yahezid's time was far too precious to waste on weapons training with a boy any longer, especially in trying times like these. The Sovereign, Shanar learned, was relying more heavily on Yahezid since Haruf's and Amina's deaths; his brother Yago no help as always. To his surprise, Asnam himself was appointed as the new weapons trainer, and, even more surprisingly, Shanar was to join them. If he was the one to protect Arevan day and night from now on, he had to refresh his memories concerning the use of a sword. Asnam had also arranged for Shanar to be armed at all times, a high privilege for a slave. 

Arevan was happy about the new arrangement, and having a trusted companion in training lifted the boy's spirits even further. Shanar's fighting abilities were rusty and on a basic level at best, so they were actually even matched. Asnam mercilessly pointed out mistakes and was as strict as Yahezid, but neither brutal nor discouraging, so both were learning quickly. Arevan, Shanar realized, had a natural talent for fighting if properly taught and looked forward to the lessons. The boy also seemed to grow with every passing day.

Shanar had also changed quarters. He was now lodging right beside Arevan's chambers to be ready to assist and protect him at any time. Lady Taira, however, hadn't been agreeable to parting with her favorite musician. Shanar was still to play at bigger occasions, but luckily, Asnam had found yet another mehan'murad slave at the auction to console her - a man able to juggle with burning torches. This had been by far the biggest achievement.

All in all, Shanar realized that confiding in Asnam had been the right thing to do. Arevan was much safer now and able to defend himself at least in an open fight a bit better with every day. Their unknown enemy's next strike, however, would surely come out of the dark again.

Yet nothing happened as Rain-time passed and Sowing-time started with glorious flowers and gentle sunshine; perhaps the assassin had truly been discouraged by the fact that Arevan was now better protected than ever. As time passed, Shanar felt the edge of worry fade away like a knife getting blunt. Instead, he was concentrating on Arevan's lessons. His doubts about the pendant's power had slowly quietened down as well since he had no need to use it. Although he was always wearing the pendant, its power was dormant as long as a song wasn't accompanied by strong feelings, as Nuriven had told him. Shanar, looking back on all the occasions the pendant had been showing its power, had realized that it had always been a very emotional situation, full of sadness, pity, or anger. His desire to either help someone or scare him had activated the pendant. As long as his own feelings were serene, the little piece of metal was quiet and cold like any other jewelery. Sometimes, Shanar even wondered if that strange conversation with Nuriven had ever truly happened.

 

 

The routine was again interrupted as one day, Arevan asked about the city. So far, he had never shown any interest in the people who would, one day, be his subjects, except for listening to Shanar reading Alia's letters to him.

"I want to go out there," the boy said, looking out of the window. "Mother always said that it's important to see how the simple people live, but I didn't understand it. I never had the wish to leave the palace."

"You have to ask your grandfather," Shanar replied. "And you can't go alone, of course. But may I ask why you changed your mind, your Highness?"

"I don't know. I want to honor her wish. And the letters from your sister made me curious." Arevan turned toward Shanar. "I know how much you miss them. If we go out there, we'll visit them. I want to meet your family. Maybe they are different from the people here. You know that I don't like them."

Shanar smiled broadly at this unexpected prospect. "Thank you, your Highness. I'd be honored to introduce you to my sisters and brothers. But it's very humble living out there. The house we lived in wasn't even as big as this room. You might be appalled."

Arevan shook his head. "I want to see it all."

 

_ To be continued... _


	20. Verse 10 - Swords (Part II)

The young prince didn't change his mind, and the Sovereign actually thought it a good idea, so Asnam and Shanar discussed the details of the tour. Shanar would accompany Arevan directly while a group of soldiers was to be positioned in the vicinity. Since it would cause too much of an uproar if the people learned of Arevan's visit, they decided on a disguise. Simple clothes and cloaks would do the trick, especially hiding the boy's flaming hair, the Menar family's trademark. 

Although Asnam and Shanar didn't speak of it, they both knew that this was a perfect opportunity for the assassin to strike again. The soldiers protecting Arevan were the only ones to be taken into confidence, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn't talk. Aside from them, only the Sovereign knew, but since he had no reason to mistrust his family, all of them knew of the undertaking as well. This thought worried Shanar although he couldn't think of any other ways to protect the boy. They would go on a clearly marked route, stop only briefly and then go directly to Alia's and Sehan's house. Both Shanar's sister and her husband were under oath not to tell anybody of their august visitor, and for Jeana and the boys Arevan wouldn't be more than Shanar's rich employer's grandson. Alia had told them that their big brother had found a good place of work in a noble house, but was kept too busy to visit. 

Early in the morning, Shanar and Arevan went out. Both were carrying swords which was not unusual for Al'Menaran nobles, but their unremarkable clothes didn't attract any attention. Arevan hesitantly followed Shanar down the broad stairs of the palace and past the guards. "The only times I ever left was when we visited the temples," he said quietly. "And never on foot. We went by litter."

"I know. But there's nothing to fear, your Highness. The streets we are about to enter aren't full of bandits." Shanar held out his hand, smiling, and Arevan took it. 

"I know that," the boy grumbled. "But it's still weird."

It was strange for Shanar as well to walk the streets again with a kind of freedom he hadn't known for a long time. He could almost forget his status as a slave, imagining he was walking with one of his siblings. But Arevan's strong, warm hand, calloused from swords training, didn't have anything in common with the tiny ones of his sisters. 

The soldiers were nowhere to be seen, but Shanar knew they were following them. The streets were still rather empty with only a few people hurrying toward the market. Reaching the south gate took some time which allowed Arevan to take a closer look at the streets. As the morning passed, they met playing children, busy women and equally busy men, beggars, bards sitting at fountains, merchants praising their wares. It gradually became louder and dirtier as they approached their destination. Arevan looked at all of it with large eyes, wrinkling his nose at some stenches. He barely seemed to believe how normal people lived.

Alia and Sehan awaited them already. They had closed their fruits stall for the day to greet their guests. Shanar was happy to see how nice a house they had found, but the most beautiful sight was Alia herself. She practically glowed, the first signs of pregnancy showing beneath her long shirt. Her husband Sehan, a tall, gangly young man with perpetually tousled hair, smiled a bit sheepishly as they clasped hands.

"Welcome! Please come in."

As soon as they were inside, Alia and Sehan bowed deeply. "Your Highness, it's an honor to meet you. Our humble home is at your service."

Humble home indeed - Shanar knew they were doing very well for themselves, but for Arevan, the sight of unadorned, simple, white-washed walls and thin leather in front of the windows instead of glass must be staggering. A kettle was hanging over the stove, boiling with sweet-smelling tea. Shanar bet his ten-rainy-season-contract that Arevan had never seen a stove in his life. 

Moments later, Jeana and the boys barged in, stopping at the last moment for a more dignified entrance while smoothing their hair and clothes. All three of them had grown considerably since Shanar had last seen them, looking well-fed and healthy.

Jeana smiled at Arevan with her usual brightness. "Hello", she greeted him. "Nice to meet you!"

"Jeana, Akil, Siran, meet Master Arevan, my employer's grandson. Sir, these are my younger siblings."

"Good day to you," Arevan replied, not sure how to react to Jeana's disarming manner and the fact that he had probably never spoken with a girl about his own age.

"Master Arevan has never been out of the noble quarters. He wanted to see how simple people live," Shanar explained. 

"Do you live in a big house?" Akil asked curiously. "And do you have many toys?" Siran chimed in.

"Yes," Arevan replied. "It' very big. I have a set of large rooms to myself. And I have lots of toys, although I'm too old for them now."

The little boy made big eyes at him, not sure if they should believe him. Arevan glanced up at Shanar. "Maybe we can come back here again. Then I'll... I'll bring some of my old toys for you?"

From that moment on, Arevan was the children's hero. Jeana pulled him away to play in the corner of the room while Shanar hugged Alia and Sehan and inquired hastily after their lives. Letters could only tell so much, so he was anxious to hear as much as possible in the short time they stayed here. A quick glance here and there in Arevan's direction assured him that he was getting along splendidly with Jeana and the boys. 

Alia asked for a song, of course, and Shanar complied gladly, choosing a funny drinking song his siblings and Arevan both liked.

 

Fight, my brothers, raise your swords

The enemies are calling

Fight my brothers, mark my words

We will see them falling

Down down down -

The enemies will die!

We will be victorious!

They will fear our cry:

To arms, brothers, fight!

 

Drink my brothers, raise your cups

The wines and beers are calling

Drink, my brothers, mark my words

You will see us falling

Down down down

The cup are empty now!

We will be mad and drunk!

They will hear our cry:

To you, brothers, cheers!

 

 

Time passed too quickly, however, and Shanar had to keep up their tight schedule to get them back to the palace well before it went dark. Alia cried softly when she hugged him goodbye, and the children clung to him, sobbing and making him promise to visit soon again, which he couldn't. Arevan got a kiss on the cheek from Jeana and actually blushed.

"So, how did you like it?" Shanar asked the boy as they strolled through the city again.

"Simple people do live truly simple," Arevan replied. "Their house was tiny! But they seem to be content with it."

"It's because they are used to it. They never knew another life. Did you like playing with the children?"

"Yes. The little boys are funny. And Jeana... She's unlike anyone I ever met." He blushed again. "I think she's... pretty."

Shanar raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh?" Now that would cause some scandal if the future Sovereign of this city fell in love with a simple city girl. "Well, then..."

Shanar stopped as he spotted movement on a rooftop right in front of them. The street was suddenly deserted with no one in sight. The next second, metal glinted in the sunslight as something whirred through the air. 

"Look out!" Shanar shouted, pushing Arevan out of the way. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder. 

"Shanar, you've been hit! Someone's shooting arrows at us!" Arevan drew his sword. "I'll show that bastard..."

"Stay out of the way!" Shanar hissed. "Don't give them a target!" Staggering, he pulled himself into a house entrance, pulling Arevan close. 

Moments later, the shouts of soldiers could be heard. The figure on the roof vanished.

Shanar and Arevan stayed where they were until two soldiers appeared from a side streets, escorting them back to the palace. Experts on combat wounds, they quickly assured that the arrow sticking in Shanar's left arm hadn't hit any vital point and would be extracted easily. It hurt terribly nevertheless, and the rest of the way back to the palace was a dizzy blur. 

 

The next thing Shanar saw was Priestess Nuriven looking down at him. "You'll be alright," she said. "No playing the lute or weapons trainging for a few weeks, but there won't be any lasting damage. I've given you something for the pain. Luckily, there wasn't any poison on the arrow."

"You sound like you expected to find something like that," Shanar murmured and looked around. He was in his own room. "Did they catch the shooter?"

"That's for Master Asnam to tell you. I'll take my leave now," she said. "Prince Arevan has been very worried. I'll send him in."

The next moment, Arevan stormed into the room, his little face white. "The priestess said you are going to be alright! Are you hurting very badly?"

"No, not really," Shanar assured him, smiling up at him. "I'm just glad you didn't get hurt, your Highness."

"Only because you pushed me out of the way," Arevan answered solemnly. "You saved my life."

"Well, that is my duty, your Highness. And now don't worry any longer. We got away, and that is all that matters."

"But why was that person shooting at us?" the prince demanded. "Why would anyone want to kill me?"

"I think it was a bandit, ready to rob us. Maybe the streets aren't so safe after all." Shanar smiled weakly. "We'd better not get out again anytime soon."

The boy was contented with that answer for the time being, and Shanar was grateful for it. The pain medicine was dulling his senses, so he couldn't concentrate properly. But there was no doubt in his mind that the as yet unknown attacker had struck once more, and had, again, nearly succeeded. 

 

"They caught the archer," Asnam told Shanar later that evening when he came by. "But he stabbed himself with a dagger before they could question him. He shouted  'Freedom to the people'  before he died. The Sovereign sent Commander Yahezid to investigate personally. They think it's a group of revolutionary malcontents who want to overthrow the Sovereign's rule. There have been rumors for a long time about such a group cospirating against the Sovereign, but there was never such an open attack against a member of the ruling family. As you can imagine, the Sovereign is not pleased at all and furious with Yahezid because of his lax security measures."

"And what do you believe?" Shanar asked.

"I don't know. It's possible that those rebels are behind the attacks. But someone from inside the palace talked too much, that is clear. You were closely pursued without the soldiers guarding you knowing it. Once again, our unknown enemy has used a very good proxy." Asnam hesitated. "You risked your life to save the prince. I'm glad to see my trust in you was justified." 

"Thank you. I only hope I don't have to do it again," Shanar sighed and closed his eyes, silently praying that neither he nor Arevan would be in any danger anytime soon.

_To be continued..._


	21. Verse 11 - The final lesson (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the things you all have been waiting for...

 

"Shanar, hurry up! Asnam's waiting for us for swords training!"

"Right behind you, your Highness," Shanar replied, quickly grabbing a bit of string to tie his hair back so it wouldn't fall into his eyes during the training. It was still laced with beads as he had to perform for Lady Taira now and then. Shanar also tucked his pendant safely under his shirt. Sometimes, he almost forgot about it since he hadn't used it in a long time, always remembering Nuriven's words of warning from six rainy-seasons ago. It almost seemed to have been in another lifetime altogether.

Looking back, Shanar could not explain how time had passed so quickly. It seemed only a week ago that he had been lying in bed with a dressing around the arrow wound in his arm, hoping that the worst danger was over for the time being. His prayers seemed to have been answered because there had been no attack whatsoever since that day. Arevan wasn't allowed to leave the palace again, of course, but it was a small price for safety. 

Shanar, however, was allowed to visit with his family once a rainy-season. Alia had been giving birth to a healthy boy she named Shanar and then a girl named Meraya after their mother. Jeana grew up into a young woman the neighborhood boys were making eyes at, and his little brothers went from tiny troublemakers to half-grown troublemakers ready to take on apprenticeships at a carpenter and a blacksmith. 

And of course, he saw Arevan growing up. It was still strange to look at this youth standing in front of him and remembering that barely yesterday, he had been a child. 

He followed Arevan out of his rooms. Their constant training had made them excellent fighters, although Shanar had huge problems keeping up with Arevan lately. The boy had been growing very quickly and also had learned the use of his new, longer limbs, skipping the typical ungainliness of youth. Instead, there was a certain, efficient grace to the way he moved, like a predator on the prowl. At the age of 14 rainy-seasons, he was almost as tall as Shanar, with broadening shoulders and large hands suggesting he would continue to grow for quite some time. The sweet, round shape of his face had hardened into sharper angles, the once-soft cheeks roughening with the first hint of stubble. 

Together, they ran down a set of hallways towards the training area. Asnam was already there, waiting for them. Over the rainy-seasons, he had taught them numerous fighting techniques with swords and shields, spears, and bows. Shooting was the only discipline in which Shanar was still ahead of Arevan, joking that he had a natural talent with stringed instruments of all sorts. Lately, Asnam made them train in dueling with quarter-staffs. It was not so much useful in an actual fight as it was a good training method for concentration and coordination. The staff was a weapon and a tool of defense at the same time, demanding equal strength and agility with both arms.

They took their training weapons and positioned themselves opposite each other. Arevan was grinning again, no doubt hoping to send Shanar face first into the sand. But Shanar wasn't about to make it easy for him.

On Asnam's command their began, attacking and evading each other while Asnam shouted at them. "Your Highness, don't forget your footwork! You're still too slow! - Shanar, keep your left arm higher or he will get through your defense!"

The opponents, however, only listened half-heartedly. Arevan, headstrong as ever, could not tolerate to be defeated by his servant, while Shanar had developed a certain pride as well and wasn't about to let a boy he had been singing to sleep for many rainy-seasons win just like that. Luck, however, wasn't with him today. As Shanar took a step back, Arevan took the chance to strike against his legs and made him loose balance. While falling backwards, Shanar managed to hook his foot around Arevan's ankle and let him tumble down as well. The fell into the sand on top of each other, wind knocked out of them.

"Good strike, your Highness! Shanar, underhanded methods might be the last resort, but they have no place in a fair fight!", Asnam scolded. "I think I taught you better than that! Apologize!"

"I'm... sorry, your... Highness," Shanar croaked, barely able to breathe. Arevan was lying heavily on top of him, face flushed as he looked down at Shanar. 

"It's... it's alright," he stammered. "Neat trick." Quickly, he rose, giving Shanar some space to catch his breath. 

"Get back to your starting positions," Asnam ordered as Shanar got back to his feet as well. As he looked at Arevan, the prince was still flushed as if he had been out in the suns for too long although the temperature outside was mild and gentle with the beginning Sowing-Time.

 

Shanar was worried by the end of the lesson. Arevan had been distracted, keeping a certain distance between them while getting scolded by Asnam for not concentrating properly. The boy still looked somehow flushed. 

"Your Highness, are you feeling alright?" Shanar asked as they walked back to their quarters. "You look a bit feverish."

"It's nothing," the prince replied stiffly. "I'm not ill."

Shanar still wasn't convinced. He stopped and reached up to touch Arevan's forehead, but the boy jerked away. "Stop it, will you? I'm alright! I'll go and take a cold bath."

"After sweating outside for hours? I don't think so, your Highness," Shanar replied sternly. "Then you'll catch a fever for sure. Come on, I'll prepare a warm bath for you and some cold cloths for your face."

Grumbling, Arevan complied. They reached the prince's private bath chamber after a few turns along the corridors. Even after all this time, Shanar was still amazed by the fact that the palace had a system of running water. By turning the silvery heads of some stylized metal birds, fresh, cool water from a underground depot ran into the tiled basin. While they waited for the basin to get filled, Shanar started to help Arevan undress. He removed his boots and belt, but when he pulled at his shirt, the prince stopped him. "I think I'm old enough now to do that myself," he murmured. 

Shanar shrugged. "As you wish, your Highness." While Arevan undressed, he went to fetch various scented oils and soaps as well as fresh towels and cloths from a nearly cupboard. The prince sank into the lukewarm water with a contented sigh, closing his eyes. Shanar knelt next to his head, putting a cool, scented cloth on his brow.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

Arevan gave an affirmative grunt and leaned back. Shanar smiled and began undressing himself. Since the basin was huge enough to admit half a dozen people, it had proved to be the easiest way to wash Arevan. The prince had always hated water and getting cleaned up, but it had gotten easier over the seasons. He still complained about getting soap into his eyes while Arevan washed his hair, however.

Now he actually jumped when Shanar touched his shoulder. Quickly, Arevan took the cloth off his face and stared at Shanar. "What are you doing?"

"You Highness, what have I been doing all those rainy-seasons? Now turn around so I can wash your hair."

"Give me the soap and I'll do it myself!" the prince growled, inching away from him. "Stop mothering me! I'm not a child anymore!"

Shanar held up his hands in defeat. "As you wish. Do you want a massage afterward?"

"No! Listen, I'm tired and I want to be left alone! Get out, Shanar!" Arevan's angry words echoed from the tiled walls.

Shanar looked at him in astonishment. He was used to childish tantrums, but this kind of raw anger was new and somehow frightening with those reddish-golden eyes flashing like a wild animal's. There was definitely something wrong with the boy. 

"As you command, your Highness," he replied quietly and stepped out of the basin. Something made him turn his head however, and he saw Arevan quickly looking away, putting the cloth on his reddened face once again. 

Now, he started to get a faint idea about what was going on. He needed someone to ask for advice.

 

 

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I'll be on easter break soon, so the next regular update will be on April 20th.


	22. Verse 11 - The final lesson (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hope this part makes it up to you!

After Arevan had eaten his dinner and wanted to be left alone once more, Shanar left his quarters to talk to Master Asnam and Sharistani. Two rainy-seasons ago, the young dancer had finally found enough courage to confess her feelings, and they had been lovers ever since, living together in the master of household's vast quarters. Shanar was very happy for her, although Sharistani had confessed to him that Asnam had never told her about his true feelings. He desired and liked her, no doubt, but the word "love" had never come over his lips. Sharistani had been contented with how things were, however, and Shanar hoped that it was really enough. 

Sharistani opened the door when he knocked, inviting him in. She was as beautiful as ever, her smile soothing Shanar's somewhat frayed nerves about today's event. "Shanar, you looked worried. What is it?" she asked, getting serious at his solemn face.

"I need to talk to Master Asnam, but I think it would be a good idea to get a woman's opinion on the matter was well." Shanar replied.

She nodded. "Of course. Come on in."

She led him into a small parlor with a beautiful view over the city. Asnam was reading by soft lamplight, looking relaxed. His eyes were as alert and sharp as ever, however, when he noticed Shanar.

"Is something wrong with the prince?" he demanded. "Go on, sit down and talk."

Shanar took a seat on a set of thick cushions, gratefully accepting a cup of fruit wine Sharistani offered him. 

"You noticed how strange he behaved today, didn't you?" he asked.

Asnam nodded. "I've never seen him this distracted."

Shanar took a sip of his cup, trying to find a way to breach this subject delicately. "I think he's starting to become a man," he finally said. "He refused any kind of service from me afterward and shied away from my touch. I guess it's become awkward for him to be served by another man. Maybe it's time to find a suitable woman to be his personal servant. I mean... I don't know how things are handled here at the palace. But the prince is a good-looking youth, and it would be a great honor for anyone."

"I thought the same thing," Asnam replied. "But there is no official protocol for such situations. The Sovereign is surely already thinking about a suitable match for his grandson as soon as the Prince comes of age. He's going to marry someone from the three main noble families, as it is tradition. He can choose, however, and there are some girls about his age available. Before that... Well, young men are expected to make experiences that don't leave any awkward reminders." He leaned forward in his chair, seizing Shanar up. "In one thing, however I think you're mistaken. Arevan isn't repulsed by your touch. I think he started to see you with very different eyes today when he was lying on top of you."

Sharistani stifled a giggle. "Is that true?"

Shanar frowned. "What do you mean?"

Asnam raised an eyebrow. "Shanar, I didn't think you to be that stupid. You're his only companion and confidante, the only one close to him. Frankly speaking, I had expected him to react to you far sooner."

For the first time in seasons, Shanar felt a blush creep up his cheeks and was glad his dark skin hid his embarrassment. "You must be mistaken," he murmured, taking another sip to calm his nerves. "I'm his teacher and servant, his slave. I care for him like an older brother would. And besides, I'm ten rainy-seasons older than him!"

"The prince is not a little child anymore although you still look at him as if he were," Sharistani gently cut in. "But that doesn't mean that he still cares for you the same way."

"You are his teacher, as you said yourself," Asnam said. "Teach him. You have proved yourself to be loyal. Do you really want the prince to become infatuated with someone who's going to take advantage of him or force him to adopt a bastard child? I think this will be an ideal arrangement until the prince marries."

Shanar didn't know what else to say to protest any further. Even if he considered this, how could he teach something he had no real experience with himself? Ever since he had been old enough to think about intimacy, he had been too occupied with feeding his family. Later, there had been some quick kisses and awkward fumbling with giddy young women in the nights of the Stargazing Festival when darkness had hidden the color of his skin. And after that... Nasty gazes from even nastier men in the hallways of the castle. Shanar still shuddered when he thought of that night Commander Yahezid had him thrown in with two of his men. Although he had escaped completely unscathed, the memory sent a shiver down his spine, making his skin itch.

No, this was all wrong. Arevan was dear like a brother to him, like family. It felt indecent. And seeing Arevan as a child was also a kind of protective mechanism. Accepting the fact that the prince was a grown man also meant accepting the fact that he looked more like his uncle Yahezid with every passing day. The red hair, the predator's eyes, the sharp lines of his face... Their resemblance was so uncanny that for a moment back there in the baths when the prince had shouted at him, Shanar had felt deadly afraid of that unfamiliar person that had somehow replaced his sweet, little, innocent prince.

"I... will think about this," he finally murmured. "Or is this an order, Master?"

Asnam shook his head. "No, of course not. You have to do what you think is right."

 

Shanar was to entertain Lady Taira and her friends that evening. It was already night when he was dismissed. He didn't return to his quarters, however, but instead lingered in the beautiful courtyard right outside the prince's quarters to think about the conversation with Asnam and Sharistani. As he sat down next to the fountain and looked up into the starry sky, he had no idea what do do. The rainy-seasons had passed in such a peaceful blur, letting Shanar forget sometimes how things truly were. Slowly, one by one, he recounted the pillars of his reality like a mantra.

One, he was still a lowly mehan'murad slave, with four more rainy-seasons to his contract, no matter how many liberties he had been granted.

Two, they had never caught the person behind the attacks on Arevan, although nothing further had happened.

Three, Commander Yahezid had been sent away on a diplomatic mission by the Sovereign shortly after Arevan had been attacked in the streets. The commander had been fallen out of grace with his uncle with this incident, although officially, he was to visit the three other big cities to learn more about the political systems and problems there. Ghajadin had accompanied him, and they had not yet returned. 

Four, the Sovereign was not doing well. As soon as Arevan turned fifteen rainy-seasons during coming Harvest-Time, he was about to ascend to the throne. Was he ready? Shanar couldn't tell.

And five, Shanar wanted to stand by him in any way he could, honoring the promise he had given to Princess Amina. But he had absolutely no idea what the right thing to do was in this situation.

Softly, he closed his eyes and started to softly sing to himself, trying to find ease in the sound of his music.

 

Can you see the stars

Shining in the sky?

Shariha loves her children,

makes hearts and souls fly.

 

Can you see the suns set,

Burning white and red?

The sons of Shariha

Going back to bed.

 

Can you see the moons

Glowing in the night?

Shariha's pearly necklace,

shining clear and bright.

 

Can you see the stars

Falling from the sky?

Shariha sends her blessings

from above so high.

 

Can you see my love

Shining in my eyes?

Like Shariha's blessing,

My love never dies.

 

Shanar vividly remembered singing this song together with his grandfather, with his mother joining in and even his father, although he couldn't carry a tune. Alia had been a toddler, looking up at them with bright eyes as she listened. Hearing his father's disharmonious tune, Shanar had stopped and laughed.  "I have Shariha's blessing when I look into your mother's eyes," his father had said, laughing as well, and had kissed his wife. "So I think I'm excused, my little bard."

The memory, although such a happy and soothing one, almost brought tears to his eyes. Those peaceful days were long gone and would never come back.

A sudden noise made Shanar open his eyes. Arevan, in a nightshirt and loose trousers, stood a few feet away, staring at him. 

"I'm sorry, did I wake you, your Highness?" Shanar asked softly and stood up. "I was about to..."

He didn't get any further. With two swift steps, the prince was beside him, grabbing him and pulling him close. Shanar smelt the familiar scent of soft hair as it brushed his cheek when the prince leaned his forehead against Shanar's shoulder, taking deep, shuddering breaths. 

"Your... Highness..." Shanar finally managed a whisper. "Are you alright?"

"I heard you call to me," Arevan replied as softly. "I can't explain it, but I... and you... Shanar, what's happening?"

Slowly, Shanar raised his arms to return the almost crushing embrace. He hadn't noticed it before, but his pendant had become hot again, warming his skin yet not hurting it. He couldn't hold his tears back now. Sweet Shariha, what had he done?

"I'm so sorry, your Highness!" he blurted out. "You are so dear to me, and I never... Please know that I would never do anything that could harm you! I wasn't... I haven't..."

"I know that," Arevan whispered, finally looking up. His eyes, bright and fierce, were almost on the same level as Shanar's. "I just can't help it." And with a clumsy yet determined move, he kissed Shanar on the lips.

For a moment, Shanar was too stunned to react. He wanted to push the prince away, wanted to tell him that he was just confused. But he couldn't. The influence of the pendant and the gods knew what else held power over Arevan was his responsibility now. He couldn't leave the confused young man alone with it. 

Shanar closed his eyes and opened his mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen. Arevan, encountering no resistance, enthusiastically took advantage of it, exploring the wonders of a first kiss.

After what seemed to be half an eternity, he pulled away, gasping and flushed. There were no words, just Arevan's hot forehead leaning against Shanar's shoulder once more. Shanar continued to embrace him, hold him, having no idea what to do now. 

Finally, the prince lifted his head, taking deep breaths. 

"Let's go inside," Shanar suggested softly, and Arevan nodded. Slowly, he let go of Shanar, face still red. They hurried inside where some lamps were still burning, bathing the rooms in soft light. Arevan looked at him again, a strange hunger in his eyes, and Shanar suddenly realized that he was still wearing one of his revealing entertainment outfits, consisting of various translucent layers of white cloth, embroidered with gold. He had never been shy, but under Arevan's gaze, he suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. 

Nevertheless, he had to be the one with a cool head. He was responsible. And he was already a slave, his body and abilities belonging to the Sovereign's household, to Arevan. His own wishes meant little. Maybe this would be a far smaller step than he had thought. 

Finally, Shanar asked, voice surprisingly steady, "Do you want to continue, your Highness?"

The boy blushed even darker. "I... I don't know. Can I... again...?"

Shanar nodded, and Arevan embraced him for another kiss. As his warm, strong hands slowly found their way under Shanar's outer layer of clothing, Shanar had come to a decision.

 

To be continued...

 


	23. Verse 12 - Sparks (Part 1)

 

The next morning found Shanar far too early as a beam of bright light fell through the hastily drawn curtains. He was unable to move, however, because Arevan was lying on top of him. After the night's activities, the boy - no, the young man - had fallen asleep and hadn't moved since. Shanar had been staying awake, unable to find any rest until it was almost dawn. He knew that something precious and innocent, like a fragile eggshell, had been shattered forever, hatching something unknown and strange in its process. There would be no going back.

Arevan sighed and shifted, nuzzling Shanar's collarbone, before he opened his eyes.

"Good morning, your Highness," Shanar greeted him, trying for normalcy. "If you let me get up, I'll fetch you breakfast."

"Um, of course." Cheeks flaming, Arevan let got of Shanar and stood up. "I'll go bathe myself!" Quickly, he hurried out. If it hadn't been such a strange situation, Shanar might have been amused by his embarrassment. But in a completely different way, he felt the same.

 

It was awkward to say the least, trying to get about the daily duties as if nothing had happened. Arevan quickly broke his fast and then hurried out for his lessons. For two rainy-seasons now, Arevan had been studying with various members of the court and his grandfather to learn more about politics so Shanar was mostly reduced to being a companion, body servant, and sparring partner. When Arevan had left, he was finally on his own to try and sort things through with his mind. Asnam would certainly be pleased with him, that much was clear.

So why was he feeling so bad? His own concerns should mean nothing in this matter. It had been, as Asnam had pointed out, the logical step. And as inexperienced and overexcited as Arevan had been, he had also been careful not to hurt him in any way. Under normal circumstances, Shanar might have even been able to enjoy it, but this weren't any normal circumstances. No, he didn't want to think about it anymore. 

With a determined face, Shanar set out to clean the prince's rooms to occupy himself.

 

By noon, Sharistani came by, telling Shanar that they were to play tonight for a big occasion. "We haven't played all together in some time, so we have to practice right away", she told him. "No errors tonight!"

"Any special occasion?" Shanar asked her.

She frowned. "Haven't you heard yet? Commander Yahezid has returned from his long journey. There's a banquet to celebrate his return. I guess that the Sovereign long regretted sending him into exile."

"The Commander is back?" Shanar felt the cold hand of fear grip at his heart. If Yahezid had truly been the one after Arevan's life, the attacks would surely start again. And time was running out as well: Yahezid could not kill a freshly instituted young Sovereign and then ascend to the throne - even the most trusting person would get suspicious. No, he had to get rid of Arevan before this happened. A grief-stricken Sovereign would surely designate Yahezid as the next heir and die of natural causes soon after. The old man was getting weaker every day, that much was clear. Arevan had told him recently that he thought his grandfather was just clinging to life until Arevan was of age. 

"Shanar? Are you listening? Get your lute, we'll meet Julanar at the servant's dining hall." Sharistani's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. 

"I'm sorry, of course." He went to fetch his instrument, Sharistani's worried gaze in his back.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You don't look so good."

"It's nothing", he replied. He and Asnam had decided not to tell anyone about the attacks for fear of tipping the assassin off or endangering others. Sharistani, smart as she was, might have figured it out but she had never said a word.

Arm in arm, they went down the numerous halls of the palace. 

"So...", Sharistani began, regarding at him from the side with a knowing look. "I'm beginning to guess what's going on here. You and the prince, right? Last night?"

Shanar felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Yes."

"So tell me, how was it?"

"Sharistani, please. I don't want to talk about it."

The young woman grabbed his arm and stopped him. "I know what Asnam said to you. But did you do it only because of your sense of duty? You had a choice here. No one forced you. Asnam could have found someone else for the prince."

"I know. It was my free choice, believe me," Shanar assured her. "And in a way, I'm glad that it wasn't a stranger, but someone trusted. But... It's stupid, I should stop thinking about it. It's done."

Sharistani didn't let go of him, her silvery eyes big and full of compassion and understanding. 

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I had no idea that it was the first time for you as well. If anyone can understand, it's me. Back then, when I was on my own on the streets and knew that there was a quicker way to get money besides just dancing... I asked one of my trusted friends to be my first so that no greedy stranger could take that ever away from me. That memory of gentle, familiar hands on my body got me through much worse later on."

Shanar took a deep breath, putting his hand over hers on his arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to remind you of bad times. And it's not like that. I mean, it's different with two men, right? It's not such a big deal as it is for a woman."

"It is a big deal", Sharistani persisted. "Otherwise, you wouldn't think about it so much."

"Sharistani, there is no going back now. What am I supposed to do? Pretend it never happened? What do I do tonight?"

"I don't know. But please tell me - was it bad?"

"No." Shanar shook his head. "Believe me, it wasn't. It just didn't... feel right." He sighed. "As I said, it's no use to talk about. Come on, let's rehearse."

Sharistani looked doubtful, but stayed silent this time.

 

Shanar saw Arevan not again before dinner. He, Sharistani, and Julanar, wearing red tunics embroidered with silver this time, took their customary seat in the corner of the hall. Sharistani wasn't to dance tonight, just play her timbrel. Shanar watched closely as the ruling family took their seats.The Sovereign looked frail, his skin papery, although his posture was as straight as ever. Lord Yago and Lady Taira next to him hadn't changed a bit - they would be no help to Arevan once he took the throne, that much was clear.

As everyone was present, the main doors opposite opened, and Commander Yahezid walked in, followed by Ghajadin. The nobles stood up and applauded as they strode by. Shanar noticed that the commander looked harsher and more fearsome than ever, even without his armor. Ghajadin, however, seemed completely untouched by the seasons of travel. His silvery-blonde locks shone in the lamplight, making him glow like a god-like apparition.

The Sovereign rose to greet them. "My nephew and his consort did not just travel to the other cities to tighten political bonds," he said. "They also broadened our horizons. Our ways have been good and proved, but there are always new things to be learned. My grandson with profit greatly from their experience. Welcome home!"

The guests applauded once more as Yahezid and Ghajadin bowed and took their places at the table. Shanar noticed how Yahezid's face darkened to a scowl momentarily as he looked at his cousin. Surely he hadn't expected to find a young man in the place of a child he had last seen. 

As he concentrated on his playing, Shanar vowed to keep a weapon on his person at all times from now on. 

 

"That last melody you played tonight... I've never heard it before," Arevan remarked later that evening when they had returned to his rooms and an awkward silence had reigned for a few minutes. "Are there any lyrics to it?"

"Yes, there are. But it's a rather sad ballad and not fit for a festive occasion," Shanar replied, his thoughts still on Yahezid's return and the possible consequences. "We arranged the tune a bit to let it sound more cheerful. Lady Taira had requested something completely new from us for the event."

Arevan grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down on a set of cushions. "Sing it to me," he ordered.

"I don't know, your Highness, As I said, it's not a happy song."

"Do it!" Arevan demanded. "I'm not a child anymore. I think I can handle one silly song."

That was indeed true. Shanar took a deep breath and began.

 

Long ago, a man

Set out to catch a bird

The firebird of Adir

Burning in its flight

 

The man searched day and night

To find the firebird

As he heard its singing,

Burning in his heart

 

Crossing the desert

the man was close to death

Wishing in his last hour

The firebird would come

 

And the bird of Adir

Glorious and red

Came shooting from the skies

To meet the man at last

 

He smiled and stroked its feathers

Burning both his hands

Never had he seen

A thing so beautiful

 

The Firebird of Adir

Sang its greatest song

The man out in the desert

Died in happiness

 

 

Arevan had watched him with rapt attention the whole time and for a moment, Shanar feared that he had inadvertently used the pendant again. But his skin was heating on its own under that burning gaze, once again strangely vulnerable and naked. The prince had come closer and now pulled at the strings holding together Shanar's tunic at the shoulder. All signs of this morning's embarrassment had gone, leaving only determination. 

"Your Highness...," Shanar began, but was cut close by a searing kiss. Slowly, Arevan steered him toward the bed.

 

_ To be continued... _


	24. Verse 12 - Sparks (Part 2)

"What are you two doing?"

The prince pulled away, startled by a high-pitched voice. Shanar stared toward the door where a little girl in a long nightshirt was standing. 

"Princess, you should be in bed!" 

"I couldn't sleep," Princess Liyel stated, stubbornly crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I heard Shanar sing. Can you sing me a lullaby?"

"Of course, your Highness - if your brother allows."

Arevan, clearly torn between frustration and the fondness for his sister, finally answered, "Yes, of course. - Shanar, bring her back to her rooms. Her nurse must be worried by now. Liyel, you have to stop wandering off liked that!"

"But it's so boring without you, brother!" the child declared, looking determined. "You don't play with me any more."

"I don't have as much time as I used to have. Grandfather needs me," Arevan told her. "But I'll be there for you tomorrow, I promise."

"Really?" Liyel's eyes, as dark golden as the desert at dawn, grew wide and pleading. "Can we play hide and seek in the courtyards?"

"Of course." Arevan went to her and ruffled her reddish-blond locks. "Now be a good girl and go to sleep."

Liyel nodded. As Shanar approached her, she held her arms out to be carried. As he looked back over her head to Arevan, he saw a silent warning to come back as quickly as possible. Nevertheless relieved to have a reprieve, he carried the princess back to her room, singing softly to her. As he reached her chamber where a worried Mayada was waiting, the girl was already fast asleep. 

"Did she wander off again to see her brother?" The nurse asked softly as she took the sleeping child from him.

Shanar nodded. "She misses him," he replied softly. "I think she's too much on her own. She needs a companion. Mayada, your daughter is the same age as the Princess, right? Do you think they would get along?"

The young woman gasped softly. "Do you really think the Sovereign would allow his granddaughter to play with the daughter of a servant? Wouldn't a noble child be the better choice?"

"I will talk to Master Asnam about it," Shanar replied. "Either way, Princess Liyel needs a friend. Her brother will have even less time for her in the future."

 

 

Shanar caught himself dawdling on his way back to Arevan's rooms. He would talk to Asnam first thing in the morning about a companion for Liyel. Although he was by no means in charge of the girl's education and welfare, he loved her as dearly as one of his sisters and felt responsible for her happiness. The love was equally requited by the girl, and the only time the royal siblings fought was over Shanar's attention. Liyel, Shanar feared, had somehow become as addicted to his music as Arevan had although he had taken care never to use the pendant in their presence again. Looking back, however, Shanar suspected that in the night of Liyel's birth, his power of the pendant had somehow strengthened the baby's life force and in that way, made her especially attuned to his music. Shanar would have loved to talk to Nuriven about it, but hadn't been able to see her for some rainy-seasons now. He vowed to ask for a visit to the city at the next opportunity. 

Deep in his thoughts, Shanar made a turn to enter the next hallway and suddenly collided with another person. 

"I'm so sorry!" Shanar bowed deeply in reflex, fearing that he had run into a soldier. During the last rainy-seasons, he had managed to stay clear of them, but maybe his luck had run out at last.

"Don't worry. I didn't look where I was going," a pleasant, familiar voice replied. 

Shanar looked up in surprise to see Ghajadin. "My Lord! Welcome back to the palace!"

"Thank you. Shanar, was it?" Ghajadin smiled and straightened the folds of his robe. "I remember you. My mother-in-law's favorite musician and Arevan's servant. I guess he's gotten a bit too old to be sung to sleep now, right? I was surprised to see that he has become a man already. - Now, what are you wandering about during this late hour?"

"I took Princess Liyel to her rooms. She was the one who wanted a lullaby," he replied. 

Ghajadin laughed. "I met her yesterday. Quite the little whirlwind. Her future husband will be in trouble, that's for sure. Well, Shanar, since you've tucked the Princess in, why don't you come with me and entertain me? I don't think I ever heard you sing. Since Taira doesn't like it, I guess it's no surprise."

Shanar could only answer, "As you wish, my Lord."

He followed Ghajadin a bit nervously. What was the man up to? "Forgive me for speaking up again, my Lord, but Commander Yahezid cannot stand the sight of me. If you..."

"Forget Yahezid," Ghajadin waved him off. "He's off somewhere drinking with his men to celebrate his return. I know that he doesn't like your... kind, but I don't care. He can be very stupid sometimes."

Shanar's brows shot up into his hairline, but he stayed quiet.

Ghajadin led them into a set of vast, lavish rooms Shanar had never entered before. Two servants bowed deeply, brought fruits and a drink for Ghajadin, and then left them alone. For some reason, Shanar felt suddenly trapped.

"Sit down." Ghajadin gestured toward some cushions after he had sat down as well. Shanar obeyed, looking up at him. "What would you like me to sing for you?"

"Whatever you like. What song does Arevan like the most?" Ghajadin sipped at his wine.

"He likes most ballads which tell a story," Shanar replied, trying to voice a fact he had never thought about. "I don't think he has a favorite."

"Ballads... I like them as well - except for that wretched  Ballad of Murad . I guess it's not your favorite, either?"

"No, Sir, it isn't," Shanar confessed. "Though I had to play it a lot back when I lived in the city."

Ghajadin nodded. "Do you miss your old life?"

"I'm very grateful to serve at the palace."

"You're a real diplomat." Ghajadin laughed. "I know what you want to say. Either way, people like you are not treated well enough. My mother-in-law made you fashionable as servants, but I think it's degrading."

Shanar blinked. This was the first time anyone had ever said this to him. 

Ghajadin regarded him carefully. "You're wondering why I'm so concerned? Let me tell you a little secret - relatives of mine lived in Shir'Murad back when it was a glorious city. They had to return in shame back here, like your kind. It might have been a bit easier for them because they didn't look different, but they were called mehan'murad as well - behind their backs and it their faces."

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know that," Shanar confessed.

"I put a lot of thought into this during the last seasons," Ghajadin said, taking another sip of his drink. "And I think it's time to reclaim the lost city. With a big enough army, we'd be able to defeat the sessera once and for all and rebuild Shir'Murad."

Shanar could barely believe what he heard. His whole life had been overshadowed by the loss of the city beyond the wall which was an unshakable fact never to be changed. But if the lost city could really be rebuild, all of his kind could return to the free, proud life his mother and grandfather had told him about. The stain of his ancestry would be erased forever. He could walk the streets as an honored member of society.

"I can see that you're not indifferent to that idea. Why don't you think about it? You see, the Sovereign is an old man who doesn't want to take any risks. But young Arevan could carve his name into the stone of history forever if he went out to take Shir'Murad back from the sessera." Ghajadin got up from his seat. "I think I'm not in the mood for music after all. You can go, Shanar."

"Good night, sir," Shanar murmured, getting up as well. 

Almost mechanically, he left the lavish rooms and found himself in the darkness of the palace's corridors. So many thoughts whirled in his head as he slowly returned to Arevan's quarters. Could Ghajadin's idea really become a reality? Where would they get the necessary warriors? Would the other cities offer their help? And how much money would be needed to rebuild a whole city? Wouldn't some people be afraid that history was about to repeat itself? And was the Sovereign really too afraid to take this step or justly cautious?

The longer he thought about it, the more the shining future he had imagined started to crumble. The sparks of wild hope slowly died down, and when he had reached the prince's doorstep, Shanar felt wet streaks of despair roll down his cheeks. 

No, this was a crazy dream. If he told Arevan about it, the young man would jump at the change to go to battle with the sessera. His wish to avenge his father had never died. But the people of Al'Menara hadn't seen head or tail of the sessera during these last rainy-seasons. If they went out with an army, the open war would surely start anew. And Arevan, Shanar's beloved prince, leading his men into battle, could die with a black spear in his heart like his father.

No, this wasn't worth it. Shanar's own pride wasn't worth another's life.

"Damn it, where have you been?" As soon as Shanar had opened the door, Arevan pulled him inside impatiently. 

"I'm sorry, your Highness," Shanar murmured, quickly rubbing his eyes. "Lord Ghajadin wanted to talk to me. He was very gracious, and I couldn't refuse, of course."

Arevan frowned. "Ghajadin? What did he want from you? You're my personal servant and you have the right to refuse any improper demands!"

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Shanar might have laughed at the absurd jealousy. "Don't worry. I serve you and no one else. It's just... Your Highness, you know that I've never asked for anything, but this time, I have to. May I speak?"

"What do you want?" Arevan demanded, pulling him closer.

Shanar put his arms around him, looking him into the eye. "I know that it might sound strange... But will you promise to refuse if Lord Ghajadin ever asks something of you?"

The young man's face darkened. "Don't tell me he's after my favors! He's bound to my uncle!"

It was no use. "Will you promise me?"

"Yes, I promise. And now don't you worry - I don' like that guy one bit and would never listen to anything he says. And I don't think he's that pretty. Yahezid can keep him for all I care." With awkward gentleness, he stroked through Shanar's dark strands of hair before pulling him into a kiss. 

 

_ To be continued... _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,  
> sadly, I have to announce that this story is going on hiatus because Chapter 13 isn't even finished yet. At the moment, I don't have much time and even less energy to write, but I hope to get back on track soon! Thanks for your understanding!


	25. Verse 13 - The new Sovereign (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting, but I didn't have much time to write. I'm still very busy, so I can't return to a fixed update schedule yet. As soon as I finish writing a chapter, I will post one. Thank you for your patience and support!

 

Shanar kept a brave face during the next days, but his heart was still heavy. Although he knew that his decision was right, he still felt bad - as bad as during the times he and Arevan were together. The young man's enthusiasm about intimacy was unbroken, and the more often they were sleeping together, the more Shanar caught himself forgetting that this wasn't real. There were moments when his eyes were closed and he was just feeling the young, strong body against his, caressing hands on his skin, searing lips on his own. Suddenly it wasn't his dear little Arevan anymore, but a real lover. It wasn't wrong, wasn't just his duty, but something he wanted with all his heart. But these feelings were gone the next instant, leaving only worry behind. Thankfully, Arevan never noticed.

Asnam, as it turned out, was as worried about Yahezid's return as Shanar. They had decided to keep very close eyes on Arevan and Yahezid, but so far, the Commander hadn't made any suspicious moves. They suspected that he was about to send another assassin, but there were only so much ways to secure the palace. The fact that nothing at all happened made them even more uneasy, like the ominous silence before a storm. Often enough, Shanar lay awake at night, the hand under his pillow firmly gripping the hilt of a dagger. 

 

Two weeks before the official coronation was to take place, Shanar couldn't stand it anymore. All this time, he had kept his worries from Arevan, not wanting to upset the prince, but now he felt that the time had come to tell him the truth. The young prince had to be prepared for whatever danger was to come. 

They sat together one night when Shanar took a deep breath. "You Highness, since you're about to become the new Sovereign in a few days, there are some things I have to tell you."

Arevan frowned. "What is it? You've been awfully tense lately. What's bothering you?"

Shanar took a deep breath. "Do you remember when you got sick as a little boy? We thought that it was draught-fever at first, but it turned out that you were poisoned. And that archer on the rooftop shooting at us when we went out to visit my family? That was no ordinary bandit. Someone wanted to kill you, your Highness."

"Kill me? What are you talking about?" Arevan demanded.

As Shanar started to recount the events, Arevan's frown deepened, but didn't say anything. As Shanar told him about his suspicion about Yahezid, however, he jumped up from his cushion in anger.

"How dare you accuse my uncle like that?" he barked. "Is there any proof?"

"I'm afraid not. But he's the one profiting from your death, your Highness. He's the next heir."

"But he's family! I can't believe that he would to anything to hurt me!"

Shanar looked up at him. "Do you remember the weapons training with him? You were black and blue every time."

"That was training," Arevan replied. Nervously, he paced back and forth. "Shanar, I have to accept the fact that someone wanted to kill me back then. But I refuse to believe that it was anyone close to me! Didn't you say the dying archer said something about an underground rebel movement?"

"Yes, he did. But we never saw head or tail of this alleged rebels before or after," Shanar argued. "And how do you explain the fact that the attacks stopped as soon as Commander Yahezid left the city?"

"That could be a coincidence! And you said yourself that after that second attack, you and Asnam were much more careful in protecting me. All those rainy-seasons when I wasn't allowed to go back to the city... I hated it. But now I can understand why. You were worried about me." Arevan stopped pacing. "What about my grandfather? Does he know anything about it?"

"We didn't tell him."

"Damn you two!" Arevan shouted. "What gives you the right to keep it a secret? From me, I can understand, because I was a child. But my grandfather?"

"Do you really think that he would have believed Master Asnam and me? The poisonous root could have been an accident, and the archer a normal bandit. Master Asnam thought it best to keep it a secret. He and I were worried about endangering you even more."

The young prince took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "Alright", he finally said. "Since my grandfather's health is fragile, it wouldn't be a good idea to tell him anything about this now. And the danger might even be over for a long time."

"It's not over," Shanar persisted. He got up as well, stepped over to Arevan and took his hands. "You have to be very careful, even around your family. By Shariha, I truly wish that your uncle has nothing to do with all of this. But all I ask of you is to be wary of him."

"I will. And I might be wary of other people I thought I could trust!" Arevan pulled his hands away. "I thought you were loyal to this family, Shanar."

"I am loyal, your Highness", Shanar whispered, the harsh words stinging like poisoned needles. "But that man is dangerous!"

"Get out, Shanar." Arevan turned away. "I want to be alone."

Quietly, Shanar left the room without looking back. Seeing Arevan this angry hurt him far more than he would have imagined. And the young man was right, of course. What if Shanar's hatred toward Yahezid was the reason for all of this? Would he have suspected him as the culprit if he didn't have any personal conflict with him? 

Alone in his own room, Shanar balled his fists. Yes, he would have always suspected the next heir in line. And even if Arevan was angry at him now, it was Shanar's duty to protect him - even from his own blind faith in his family.

 

That night, Shanar didn't sleep well again, worrying about Arevan. He had no idea what to do now except hoping that the young prince would calm down and see some reason. But the prince's temper was a force to be reckoned with, so it might take some time - time they probably didn't have.

In the wee hours before dawn, Shanar heard a noise. He had finally dozed off, but was immediately awake when he realized what kind of sound it was - alarm bells. In a second, he was out of bed, had pulled over a shirt and pants and grabbed his sword and bow. His sleeping chamber was right next to Arevan's rooms so that he was there in an instant, calling out to his young master. "Your Highness!"

"Shanar, what's going on?" A tousled red head emerged from underneath a layer of silken pillows. "Can't you leave me in peace?"

"The alarm, your Highness! Something's happening. We have to find out what's going on. Maybe we're under attack." Shanar tossed Arevan some clothes and took his sword from its customary place on the wall.

"Who in Adir's name would attack the palace?" Arevan grumbled while he dressed himself. "We're not at war, and if there was an unusual attack of the sessera on the wall, we would have heard of it already. I think some stupid guard got drunk and thought it would be funny to ring the alarm bell."

Shanar hoped this as well, but he had to make sure. As soon as Arevan was ready, they opened the door to the corridor. Instantly, both knew that there was no false alarm as a thick cloud of smoke welled into the room, making them cough violently. Shanar closed the doors again and bolted them shut. "Fire! Your Highness, we can't go that way. We have to get into the courtyard via the balcony."

"We're on the second floor, Shanar," Arevan protested. "We can't just jump down!"

Shanar stormed past him and opened the wooded doors to the balcony. The tower opposite the courtyard the balcony was looking out to was already completely on fire, coloring the night sky in an ominous red. The fire must have broken out very close by, so there was no time to loose. Shanar grabbed the silken sheets and draperies of Arevan's bed and started to tie them together in a makeshift rope. The material was thin, but sturdy, so he hoped that it would support them for a few moments until they had reached ground level. When he was finished, he tied the end around one of the thin columns supporting the balcony's roofing. The lengths of about a man's height was missing at the end, but they could jump down that far.

"I'll go first," he decided and carefully climbed over the balcony's banister. Even the small open courtyard now smelled strongly of smoke. When Shanar had reached the ground, Arevan followed, not looking entirely comfortable with such heights. But he also managed to jump down safely. 

"We should go that way," Shanar suggested, pointing towards the door to their right that led away from the burning tower. "There's also one of the servant staircases. I use them often."

Arevan nodded. As their ran down an empty and thankfully still smoke-free hallway towards the stairs, he asked, "What do you think happened? That tower has been empty for many rainy-seasons! Those were my grandmother's rooms."

"I have no idea," Shanar answered over his shoulder. "But I don't think it was just an accident." 

It was also strange that they hadn't met anyone yet. There were hundreds of people living in the palace. Where were they?

 

_ To be continued... _


	26. Verse 13  - The new Sovereign (Part II)

 

As they turned around a corner, they saw movements at the end of the hall. Metal surfaces reflected the light of the lamps.

"The narif'adir! Guards! We need help!" Arevan shouted as he recognized the moving figures as soldiers and started to run towards them. Shanar followed him with a bad feeling. There was something wrong here...

"It's him, the prince! Seize him! Don't let him get away!" one of the guards shouted. "Remember your orders, men!" With drawn swords, the soldiers stormed towards Arevan.

"We have to get out of here!" Shanar pulled the stunned prince into an intersection that led to the servants' staircase. They stumbled downstairs, Shanar still pulling Arevan forward. "I... I don't understand! Those are my grandfather's soldiers! Why would they attack me?" he stammered.

"I don't think they still work for the Sovereign," Shanar murmured. All of his worries had come true - Commander Yahezid had surely taken over, seizing the throne by force since any underhanded methods had failed. 

The staircase let into another courtyard, this one on ground level, full of small wagons, sacks of grain, tons of lamp oil, crafting tools and other things to support the household. The door on the far side led into the city, enabling merchants and servant to deliver the goods. Both young men practically crashed into the closed door. 

"Sweet Shariha, no!" Shanar whispered as he tried to open the sturdy lock that held the bolt in place, but it was no use without a key.

"Step back!" Arevan shouted. He had grabbed an axe and hacked the bolt into pieces with a few well-aimed swings. With the pursuing soldiers practically breathing down their necks, they ran into the city. At this time of night, it was usually deserted, but the fire alarm from the palace had woken the inhabitants of this quarter. Half-naked people came running out of their houses, some panicking, some shouting for help, some running back to grab their weapons although there was no enemy in sight. Shanar and Arevan steered right into the crowd, hoping to loose their pursuers this way. The sight of a troop of soldiers with drawn weapons agitated the citizens even more, confirming their belief that the city was under attack by the sessera. Shanar, who even after all those rainy-seasons of life at the palace still knew the city's streets very well, chose small alleys and narrows little streets, turning at every possible intersection. Finally, the noise behind them had died down as they found themselves in a shabby alley not far from where Shanar used to live. 

"Where should we go?" Arevan panted. "We can't keep running like that! We need a safe place to hide!"

Shanar had thought about this during their flight. He didn't want to go to Alia and her husband or any other former neighbor or friend - it was too dangerous for them. "We go to the temple of Adan," he decided. "Priestess Nuriven will help us, I'm sure. All temple grounds are sacred, and no worldly lord has any power there."

Arevan nodded. "Let's get there.- Shanar?"

"What is it, your Highness?" Shanar carefully looked around a corner to see if the street beyond was still empty.

"Thank you. I guess you saved my life to day... again. I really couldn't believe that Uncle Yahezid... "

Shanar answered grimly, "Don't thank me, your Highness. I wish with all my heart that it I wasn't right about him."

"I know. And what about my sister and my grandfather? And Aunt Taira and Uncle Yago? We have to find out!"

"We will, your Highness. But we have to find shelter at the temple first. And... You're not the only one worrying about dear ones. I hope that Master Asnam, Sharistani, and Julanar are alright." It was a horrible thought, and he firmly shoved it away. They had to get to safety first.

 

Their way through the city toward the temple of Adan was a breathless game of hide-and-seek, ducking into the shadows of an alleyway and hiding behind crates and stalls whenever soldiers or other people passed by. They didn't dare to show themselves to anyone since they didn't know whom to trust. What if the Commander had put a bounty on their heads? A red-headed young man in the company of a mehan'murad would be spotted easily. 

Finally, right before dawn, they reached the gates of the temple. It was custom to never lock the doors to allow people seeking help to get in at all times. Arevan and Shanar quickly rushed in, finding the main hall mostly empty. There was only a blonde young boy in the customary light-yellow robes of an acolyte kneeling before the statue of Adan. He turned around at the sound of their foot steps. He had a cute face, but his eyes were milky and unfocused in the lamp light. "Welcome. May I help you?" he asked in a sweet voice.

Shanar suddenly remembered the boy from the temple's choir. He was blind.

"We'd like to speak to High Priestess Nuriven. It's an emergency," Shanar told him. "And we can't stay out here."

The child nodded, face suddenly serious. "Please follow me." 

Unerringly, the blind boy let them through a series of hallways in the back of the temple to a simple guest quarter where recovering patients could stay. The small room held nothing but just two beds and a night stand with a basin of fresh water. The first light of dawn shone through the high window, tinting the sky a bloody red. 

A few moments later, Nuriven joined them. She must have been already up for she was dressed immaculately. 

"You Highness, Shanar, what happened?", she asked. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"We are on the run, priestess," Arevan said, taking a few deep, shaky breaths. When Shanar noticed that the young man was unable to continue, he told Nuriven everything that had happened during the night. While she listened, her expression became dark. 

"Now the worst thing has happened," she finally said. "But don't worry, you are safe here for the time being. The only other person who knows that you're here is little Jelenar, and he has no idea who you are. My healers and I will be called to the palace soon to help the injured and I will find out what has become of the royal family. Try to get some sleep. Jelenar will bring you something to eat later."

Shanar and Arevan thanked her as she left them alone. The young prince slumped down on one of the beds, his brave facade crumbling as the rush of the flight wore off. Shanar felt deadly tired, his heart heavy with worry, but he couldn't allow himself to break down. He had to take care of Arevan. He sat down next to the young man, putting an arm around him. "Nuriven will tell us everything soon," he reassured him. "There's nothing we can do right now. You're alive, and that's all that matters."

Arevan flung himself at him, breaking down into a sob like he had done as a child so many rainy-seasons ago. Shanar held him gently, stroking the tousled hair that was still as silky and fine. He felt like crying as well, but Arevan needed his strength now. There was no time for any weakness now. The had to be strong for the both of them.

 

It was around noon when Nuriven returned. Arevan had finally fallen asleep in Shanar's lap, but was immediately awake as the priestess entered. She looked tired and worried.

"There is no delicate way to tell you this, your Highness," she began. "Your grandfather, our beloved Sovereign, is dead, as well as Lord Yago and Lady Taira. They all died in the fire. I examined their bodies. There were no signs of violence. The deadly smoke of the fire suffocated them."

All color was gone from Arevan's face as he stared at the priestess. "And Liyel ... And Yahezid?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"The princess is alright. It turned out that she wasn't in her rooms last night. Her nurse found her hiding in one of the courtyards. Commander Yahezid however... he was badly burned. They found him near the fire's origin, at the old tower. I tried everything I could to help him, but it was too late." Nuriven paused. "He told me something with his dying breath. It was a message for you, your Highness."

"What did he say?" Shanar asked, his arms still around Arevan. He could barely believe what he heard.

"He said,  'Tell Arevan I'm sorry. I tried to stop it all, but it was too late. I was a blind fool. I didn't know what kind of monster...' "

"By the gods..." Arevan took a few shaky breaths.

"And who is in charge now?" Shanar felt the distant clarity of a shock guiding his words. "Who ordered the narif'adir to capture us?"

Nuriven's eyes burned.

"It's Lord Ghajadin. It was his doing all along, not Commander Yahezid's. He's the new Sovereign now."

 

_ To be continued... _

 

 


	27. Verse 14 - Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, this is an important announcement. This story has to go on hiatus again because I have to restructure it completely. Right now, it doesn't work the way it should, and I'm very unhappy with it - that's also one of the reasons I couldn't continue. I will repost this story once it has been structured the way I want it, so I hope that you will be patient with me once more until I'm finished. Thank you and of course merry Christmas to you!

Shanar and Arevan stared at Nuriven in utter shock. Neither of them could believe what they had heard. Friendly, pretty Ghajadin, hardly more than an ornament to Commander Yahezid, had been planning to take over the throne all along without anyone noticing? Judging by Yahezid's last words, he had realized what his consort had been up to, and had tried to stop him - and was surely killed for it. Although brutal and unforgiving, Yahezid hadn't been a murderer and had stayed loyal to his family.

"Did you see anyone else? What about Master Asnam?" Shanar finally asked Nuriven.

"Yes, he is alive. He had some minor burns, but nothing serious. His young mistress, however, was in bad shape. She had been inhaling too much smoke before he could pull her out of the burning room."

Shanar's heart skipped a beat. "Sharistani? Will she survive?"

"I think so, although her condition was critical. One of my best healers is still tending to her," the priestess assured him. "But there are good chances that she and her baby will get well again. I examined her myself."

"Her baby? She never got around to tell me she was pregnant," Shanar murmured, infinitely relieved now. "And the rest of the household?"

"Most of the other servants survived since the fire broke out near the royal family's quarters, although there were some casualties and injuries. The soldiers, however, seemed to have been alarmed before. None of them were harmed, and all were wearing full armor."

Arevan clenched his fists and jumped up. "That damned creature set the palace on fire to kill my family, and somehow managed to pull the narif'adir on his side! I'll kill him with my bare hands! I'll..."

"Your Highness, don't be reckless! We can't do anything against him at the moment," Shanar tried to calm him down. "We need a solid plan and trustworthy allies. You can't go out there on your own and challenge him!"

"No, you cannot," Nuriven concurred. "Because Lord Ghajadin declared you dead. A poor servant boy about your height, burned beyond recognition, will be buried with all the honors of a prince."

Arevan slumped down again. "So I'm dead," he whispered. "I'm dead to the world. Liyel will be devastated."

"But the soldiers are still looking for you. Ghajadin knows you are still alive and will not stop until he gets you. I saw him get a report from his men while I tended to the injured. His eyes were as cold as a deadeater bird's. Sooner or later, he will look for you at the temples." Nuriven sighed. "I really wish I could do more for you, but you have to get out of this city, your Highness, and soon."

"I can't leave! I have to fight for my rights! I have to let Liyel know that I'm still alive at least!" Arevan protested.

"Priestess, can you get a message to Master Asnam? He has to know that we're still alive. Maybe he can help us," Shanar asked.

Nuriven nodded. "I will. I promised to look at his mistress again anyway."

 

The day and following night passed without anything happening. Arevan alternated between pacing restlessly like a caged animal and huddling in a corner, brooding. Jelenar, the blind boy, brought the food and fresh water. Shanar was reminded of the hours before he was sold at the slave auction - helpless and with an uncertain future. And where should they go from here? Nuriven was right; staying in the city was too risky. The other noble families wouldn't be much help, either. Arevan's next relatives were his mother's family, the Anessirs - which were also Ghajadin's family. All of their dreams had come true by one of their offspring gaining the throne, even under such tragic circumstances. The other two most noble families, the Kha'als and the Talmans, wouldn't risk their status by supporting a mere boy who wasn't even of age and could not prove his identity. The smaller noble clans, like the Di'Uzras and the Malhads - Asnam's family - had too less influence. And all the other citizens had no reason to help them, either. All of them lived in deep respect, even fear of the narif'adir, and Arevan had almost never appeared in public. No simple man or woman would risk their existence for a boy they didn't know and anger of the new Sovereign.

They were trapped.

Finally, Nuriven returned. "Your friend Sharistani is out of danger," she reassured Shanar. "I got the chance to talk to her and Master Asnam in private for a few moments. They were very relieved to hear that you are both alive and well. Since there wasn't much time, Master Asnam promised to send a messenger here as soon as possible. He suggested that you keep your heads down for the time being."

"I'm tired of hearing this!" Arevan shot back. He stood there, fists clenched, eyes smoldering like a volcano right before an outbreak. "I can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"Let's wait for Master Asnam's message," Shanar suggested. "He knows the court better than anyone else and surely has an idea on how to proceed."

"Asnam can't help us! The only way to solve this is to go back to the palace and stab a sword into Ghajadin's treacherous heart! He can't refuse a formal duel if I challenge him!"

"Please calm down. You are not even of age yet, so you can't challenge him - even if you would get as far as the throne room. The narif'adir will arrest you first and throw you into the dungeon - or kill you on the spot!" Shanar stood up and held him by the shoulders. "Look at me. It would be suicide!"

"Don't you dare to defy me and treat me like a child, mehan'murad!" Arevan barked at him, shaking his hands off as he headed for the door Nuriven was still blocking. "And you, get out of the way, woman!"

"Arevan, stay here! This isn't the right way!"

Shanar's sharp words echoed through the small room, stopping the prince in his tracks. He turned around, the insane fire in his eyes slowly dying down, giving way to grief and helplessness.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he finally whispered. "By the gods, Shanar, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... And Priestess, please forgive my rudeness. I just... I don't know what..."

"We know," Nuriven answered gently. "Please just listen to us. This isn't the time for hasty actions. You will get back your throne, but not today. Now get some more rest. We'll speak later."

When she had closed the door behind her, Arevan pulled Shanar into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I really didn't mean to... You're right, of course. My temperament got the better of me again."

"There's nothing to excuse, your Highness," Shanar replied, stroking his hair. "But I'm sorry for my disrespect. I called you by your name."

Arevan let go of him to look him into the eyes. "I didn't even notice. But I called you a... I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to."

Shanar shook his head. "I didn't notice either," he lied. "And I truly didn't mean to order you around. I'm just worried about your life."

"I know that as well. I... I don't know what I would to without you, Shanar."

As Arevan pulled him into another embrace, Shanar closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that he had just used his pendant again. The little piece of metal was still glowing hotly against his neck, taming Arevan's anger and making him see reason again. Or was it? He had given Arevan a direct order, and he had obeyed. Even Nuriven had noticed; Shanar had seen how she had gotten pale for a moment. 

When Arevan's hands wandered lower, Shanar knew that just one little word would keep the prince from touching him ever again. But he stayed silent as the pendant slowly grew cold.

 

 

 

We give thanks to all your gifts

Gentle god of light

For all the fruits of harvest-time

That keep us fed and bright

 

We give thanks to all your gifts

Gentle god of life

For all the flowers and the crops

A world without a strife

 

We give thanks to all your gifts

Gentle god of health

We sing this song in gratefulness

Your gifts are our wealth

 

Shanar had dozed off, Arevan as usual pinning him down with his weight in one of the narrow beds. The familiar lyrics, faintly heard from the temple's great hall, reminded Shanar of the Light Festival about to begin. Children would be showered with gifts, and couples would get married. It was the most joyful of times in a rainy-season, a festival celebrated among family and loved ones. 

Alia and her family would prepare for the festival as well. Shanar missed them so much, but as things were right now, he might never dare to see them again for fear of endangering them. He couldn't even get word to them that he was alright. They must be worried after the fire in the palace.

The temple's choir repeated the song, little Jelenar's clear soprano soaring above the others. Despite the grim situation, Shanar smiled. This was the way music was supposed to be - pure and innocent, moving people's hearts with sheer beauty, not a strange magic Shanar didn't fully understand. If Arevan ever found out about that, he would never forgive him. His proud soul, still so immature and reckless and yet good at its core, surely couldn't stand this humiliation. This was the one secret Shanar would keep from him forever.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. "One moment, please!" he called, gently shaking Arevan awake. Grumbling, the prince complied and grabbed his clothes. As soon as they looked somehow presentable again, Shanar opened the door. It was Nuriven. One look at both young men's tousled hair, however, told her everything.

"Master Asnam's messenger is here," she said and stepped aside to admit the newcomer. 

"Julanar! It's so good to see you! Are you alright?" Shanar rushed towards her and took her hands, then stopped. She was wearing a simple set of clothing and a cloak, as well as sandals. Shanar had never seen her in anything but fancy entertainer's clothing. But there was something else about her, something he couldn't place. She looked down on their joined hands, and as Shanar followed her gaze, he noticed that the slave tattoo around her finger was gone. She was free.

For the first time since he had known her, Julanar smiled.

"It is good to see you as well, child," she said in a hoarse, heavily accented voice. 

Shanar stared at her in disbelief. "You can talk?" he stated the obvious. "What happened? Please, take a seat."

They all sat down on the beds to listen to her.

"Master Asnam and Sharistani send greetings. They are both well," Julanar began. "Since Lady Taira is dead, there is no need for musicians of our kind, so Master Asnam asked Lord Ghajadin for Sharistani's and my freedom. He granted it. No person is truly evil, and he always had a soft spot for the fate of our kind. Master Asnam asked me to deliver a message to you. He wanted to write a letter, but the moment the special cleaning lotion washed away the mark of servitude on my skin and thus my shame, I was free to speak again."

"I'm so happy that you and Sharistani are free now." Shanar squeezed her hands. "And I heard that she was going to have a baby? She never told me!"

"She did not know for long. As soon as she is back on her feet, she and Master Asnam will marry. He could not do it while she was in service."

"I wish I could be there," Shanar said wistfully. All these horrible events had at least brought one good thing. "But what did he suggest we should do now?"

"You should leave the city. Master Asnam also said that you should not attempt to find any help in the other big cities. Lord Ghajadin has traveled to all of them during the last few rainy-seasons and has gained some contacts and influence there. The authorities of these cities will never risk the good relations among each other by challenging the current ruler of Al'Menara. Everyone knows that this city has the most soldiers."

"Then where should we go? The little oases out in the desert are populated by simple farmers and merchants. There's no help to be found," Arevan protested. 

"You are right, your Highness," Julanar replied. "But I have a suggestion. You have to go where everything began, where no one, not even Lord Ghajadin will come looking for you - at least not yet. You have to cross the wall and go north."

"What? Are you crazy, woman?" Arevan stared at her as if she had suggested he'd swim the ocean in the hopes of finding a new shore. "The sessera are out there, as well as dangerous animals and no water! What in Adir's name could be gained by going there? Now that's what I would call suicidal!"

But Shanar wasn't so quick to wave this idea aside. "We could follow the river to the ruins of Shir'Murad," he said. "That's where we have to go, right?"

Julanar nodded. "Yes. Because it has to end where it began, child. I remember the night when the hordes of the noalsera stormed the city, outnumbering the soldiers by hundreds. I remember the desperate people fleeing the city in night clothes. And I remember the noble Lady Badris Anessir, blond and beautiful, the wife of our ruler, Lord Murad's son Hadran. A little boy was clinging to her ragged clothing, eyes wide with terror. In the evenings, she pointed toward the burning city that was illuminating the night sky.  'This is your city, my boy,' she said. 'Always remember.' "

Now everything fell into place, like pieces of a puzzle. Ghajadin's strange friendliness toward the mehan'murad; his comments about other former Shir'Murad citizens living in shame; his plan to convince Arevan to take the city back...

"It was Ghajadin, right? He's Murad's grandson and the rightful heir to the lost city," Shanar murmured. "And that's why he wanted to gain control over Al'Menara - to have the means to take Shir'Murad back and rebuild it. All of this, all the attacks, the deaths, the schemes... Just to get his lost honor back. He told me himself that the old Sovereign thought this plan too risky, so he had to try another way. He tried to get Yahezid in a position of power by assassinating our prince, but it failed. He was sent away, and when he came back, he tried to convince me to talk you into his crazy plans. - That's what I asked you not to listen to, your Highness," he told Arevan. "But I had no idea he would go that far. When this didn't work either, he decided to kill everyone. Yahezid must have tried to stop him, but failed."

Arevan took a deep breath. "I still can't believe it," he murmured. "How can anyone be so desperate to get back his birthright?" 

"A few hours ago, you wanted to storm the palace on your own for the same reasons, your Highness," Shanar reminded him gently. "But there's a big difference between risking one's own life and taking the lives of others to get what you want."

"But do you think we can find something in the ruins that will help us, Julanar? How can we stop Ghajadin?" Arevan asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

"Lord Murad's sword is still there. Lord Hadran wielded it in battle, but a noalsera pulled it out of his hands and stabbed him in the heart with it." Julanar paused, shuddering. "I was there. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I was living in the palace as a musician at Lord Hadran's court. I had hidden myself and saw the duel with my own eyes. The noalsera... It was their leader, I think... cut off Hadran's head and took it as a trophy. The body with the sword was left there in the great hall."

"How can an old, rusty sword help us?" Arevan asked with a frown. "If we really find it, what then? Do you think Ghajadin will hand me the throne back if I give him his grandfather's old sword? He could have tried to find it already if it's that important to him."

"No one has ever dared to go back to the ruins, not even Lord Ghajadin," Julanar replied. "And he does not know that it was left there. His mother told him that it was lost in the fire. Murad's sword was the insignia of his reign."

"I think I remember a story about that sword," Shanar said. "My grandfather told me about it. Murad had gotten the sword from the priests of the temple of Adir after they had received a divine vision. The sword was engraved with a prophecy that said,  'Hold me, and you hold everything. Lose me, and you lose everything' . Murad believed that as long as he had this sword, his dream of a new city across the wall could become true."

"And the city was lost the moment his son lost the sword," Julanar replied. "We all knew of this prophecy. Lord Ghajadin would do anything to get the sword back if he knew it was still out there."

"Then we have to find it first. Ghajadin won't lose any time starting his expedition into the desert. He has waited long enough."

"But what about the sessera?" Arevan insisted. "They are still out there and will attack us on sight!"

Julanar was quiet for a moment before she said, "They will not if I go with you."

Arevan was far from convinced. "And why is that?"

"Because... I am one of them." Julanar's strange blue eyes rested on Shanar. "As you are, child. The creatures the mehan'shari - your people, your Highness - call 'sand demons' and the dark-skinned people from the desert joining the citizens of Shir'Murad are one and the same."

 

_To be continued..._

 


End file.
